


I Wasn't A Morning Person Before I Met You.

by Izzietheravenclaw83



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Drunk first kiss, First Kiss, Fluffy Ending, Gay like the world has never seen before, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, I really like the nickname pigeon for pidge okay, Keith/Lance (Voltron) Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Really Character Death, Second Chance, Stalking, They get fluffy though I swear, drunk fluff, just a small one though, sequel in the works, we'll see
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2018-10-05 09:53:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10303967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izzietheravenclaw83/pseuds/Izzietheravenclaw83
Summary: "Keith wasn’t a morning person, but for the beautiful tanned boy belting out Hollaback Girl, he very well might be willing to try."Ten years ago, Keith Kogane fell in love for the first time, only to have that love be taken away from him in the cruelest way possible. On the anniversary of Lance McClain's death, Keith wakes up to find himself asleep in the cafe where Lance had once worked and to his surprise, Lance is very much alive. Keith is given a second chance to save Lance's life and heal his broken heart. He's skeptical, but he'll do anything to see Lance live past December 29th.





	1. Crazy in Love

**Author's Note:**

> I’m Klance garbage and I like injecting that Klangst directly into my veins, so naturally it seemed fitting to write a fic in which Keith comes back ten years into the past to save Lance from his brutal murder. 
> 
> Hoo buddy, this is going to be a ride to write.  
> _________________________________________________________________________________________  
> Summary - “You’re from ten years in the future and you’re here to save Lance’s life?” Keith grunted an affirmative. “Wow Keith, I didn’t strike you as the creative type. Either that, or you’re bat-shit crazy.”
> 
> Keith is glaring at them now. “The latter.” He groans out. “Thanks for having faith in me though, Pigeon.”

Keith Kogane was never one to believe in true love. It was an abstract concept that few, if any, ever found in their short lives on this Earth. He had once let himself fall head over heels in love with another person, and for years he decided it was the worst thing to ever happen to him.

The boy of his affection worked at a local coffee shop near his college. His smile was radiant, giving Keith’s tired eyes more of a pick-me-up than any Lion Turbo Shot Mocha ever could hope to achieve. His voice was chipper and bright, giving the whole environment a sweet and energetic aura. Keith would do just about anything if that sweet voice asked him to nicely. Maybe even rudely.

Sometimes he would hum Shakira or Beyonce if they played on the early morning radio. So naturally, Keith made a morning routine to call the radio station every morning so they’d play his songs at the same time every day. Keith wasn’t a morning person, but for the beautiful tanned boy belting out Hollaback Girl, he very well might be willing to try.

One morning, Keith requested ‘Crazy in Love’ and waited for 8am on the dot. When the song hit, Lance put on a show to dance for the customers as if no one was watching at all even though the cafe had been filled with groggy customers.

Keith choked on his coffee and almost keeled over right then and there.

The boy’s handwriting was sickeningly cute. He swirled the K in Keith’s name and dotted the i with a small heart or smiley face every morning without fail. Keith had to cover the writing on the paper with a cardboard sleeve so he wasn’t distracted at work or in class.

And God, the way he called out Keith’s name as he handed him his morning cup of coffee! Keith didn’t believe in angels, but the sleepy morning voice of the pretty Cuban boy was probably the closest thing to an angel in this life and he would fight anyone who said otherwise.

One November morning, the boy finally started wearing his name tag (much to his manager’s delight). Lance. One syllable that hit Keith like a punch in the stomach. He found himself often quietly muttering the name quietly like a mantra in the early morning before leaving his run-down apartment for the short yet freezing trek to his college.

Over the passing months, Keith learned much about the Cuban boy--His favourite colour was blue, he was on a swimming team (Backstroke, which would explain his toned shoulders and back muscles that Keith yearned to feel under his hands. Though he’d never say so out loud of course.), his mother was a graying old woman who had already raised six children in her short life time (Lance was the youngest sibling), and lastly, Lance had a white cat that he’d lovingly named blue. Lance was more of a “Dog Friend” kind of person, so the fact that he’d kept a cat surprised Keith the most about the boy.

Keith was absolutely smitten with Lance.

Everyday was a new disaster of awkward dad jokes or close-up cat photos. Keith lived for every moment he spent with Lance, almost like he was the missing part of Keith's life. Something that was always meant to be there, but just hadn't been found until he met Lance. It was warm and happy and... _right_.

One day, Lance didn’t show up for his shift. Naturally, Lance was the type to groan throughout his workday despite being the most hardworking employee at Voltron. He would never willingly miss a day of work, _especially_ without calling in advance. It was very out of the ordinary for him, but all of the employees tried to play it off like Lance was probably out clubbing the night before or something of that caliber. The jokes didn't help to calm their worries though. 

The second shift he missed was when his co-workers, Allura and Hunk, called his home, friends, and family. No one had heard anything from Lance since his last shift on the 29th, so the only course of action that could be taken was to file a missing person's report. Keith gave Allura his number so she could contact him if any information came in involving Lance. After a sleepless night of staring at the ceiling, hoping and praying that Lance would just _show up_ already, he’d received a text message from Allura telling him to come into Voltron as soon as possible.

His feet felt heavy as the brick exterior of Voltron came into view. His mouth was dry and blood pulsed in his ears the moment he noticed the police officers consoling Allura, her fluffy white hair falling across her tear soaked face. Coran and Hunk were trying to stay strong for Allura, but the employees had always been close to one another. Despite Allura’s insistence to Keith that she couldn’t stand Lance, it was obvious that she loved him like a brother. He didn't even need to ask to know what the verdict was or where Lance had been. 

December 29th was the day Lance McClain was murdered by a crazed stalker on his way home from his closing shift. It was also the day that Keith’s heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

The body had been mangled. Keith made no attempts to ask any questions about the condition of the body, deciding that some things were better left unknown. Despite the attempts at ignorance, Keith heard bits and pieces of the conversations between the hushed officers. The culprit had apparently stolen some of Lance’s hair as a memento after stabbing him multiple times in the abdomen.

After asking Keith some questions, the police decided that there was no motive for the murder as well as a clear alibi from his workplace during the time of the murder. A few weeks later, Keith moved as far away from that town as he could in a desperate attempt to escape the memories of the smiling boy in the cheerful coffee shop and the fact that Keith would never see that blinding smile ever again. He’d never get the hot coffee with three milks, 1 sugars, signed with a heart ever again.

He’d never get the chance to Lance McClain that he was madly, _hopelessly_ in love with him. Keith would gladly give the remainder of his life just for five more seconds with him in that warm winter coffee shop.

Allura blamed herself for never catching on that something was wrong with Lance. Despite everyone telling her that it wasn't her fault, Keith could tell from the look in her eyes that she'd never truly forgive herself for letting such a thing happen to the person she considered a younger brother. Coran stayed at her house for a few weeks to make sure she was never alone with her thoughts while the loss was still fresh in her mind. 

Without Lance around, Voltron went out of business. Allura didn't want to step foot inside the cafe again after what had happened for the same reason Keith wanted to be as far away from that town as possible. It just wasn't the same without Lance there to cause trouble for everyone. 

On the anniversary of Lance’s death, Pidge would always be sure to call Keith at 10am sharp. It was a safe time in their mind. Not too early to wake Keith up, but not too late that Keith might be out of the house running errands. Not that he’d leave the house on December 29th anyway.

He spent the day the same way every year, laying in bed feeling bad for himself. After ten years it was becoming pathetic in everyone’s minds but they would never say anything to him about his actions. Pidge knew that Keith wasn’t one to fall in love, but a decade was plenty of time to move on from one person.

Keith still blamed himself though. In the early morning of December 29th, Lance had invited Keith out after his shift. He would’ve accepted, had he known what was going to happen a few hours later, but he was so flustered around Lance that he declined without a second thought. At the time, he’d been furious for letting the opportunity slip him by, but now years later, he hated himself for it.

Pidge always ended the conversation in the same way, with a question. They would ask Keith where he was and when he was going to come back to Altea. Ten years and Pidge still didn’t give up hope that he would come home, but when Lance died, a part of Keith died with him. A large part that he doubted he'd ever recover. 

“When are you going to stop hounding me? Are you going to make me change my phone number?” It was an empty threat, but that didn’t stop Pidge from updating their phone-book every opportunity they had.

The two would talk for anywhere from fifteen minutes to five hours. Pidge always hung up first, leaving Keith listening to the dead air for a few seconds before hanging up on his end as well.

Keith spent December 29th the same way every year, laying in bed, forgetting to eat, and staring at the ceiling counting individual cracks and specks. At around 9pm, Keith fell asleep with dreams of Lance filling him with sorrow.

 

The next morning, Keith was woken by someone shaking his shoulder gently. Warmth emanated from the culprit’s fingers. A strong scent of fresh coffee wafted around him, flowing through the room warmly. Keith shut his eyes tighter, hoping to return to the memories of Lance that he saw inside of his dreams.

“...th.” The shaking was more assertive this time. Keith let out a groan and attempted to retreat further into his own jacket. “Keith!”

The voice calling his name ran like ice water through his veins, instantly tearing any hope of sleep away from him. A lilted voice called out his name, making Keith’s breath hitch in his throat. His mind raced a mile a minute, wondering how real a dream could feel. He wondered what would happen if he never looked up. Would he be able to dream and hope that it was him, even though he knew it couldn't be possible? 

Curiosity got the better of Keith. Slowly, as if uncertain, he gazed up at the source of the voice. Beautiful blue eyes peered down at him in concern. That same short, messy brown hair from ten years ago fell lightly against his forehead. It was soft looking, the same colour as his cooling coffee across the round wooden table.

“Lance.” Keith breathed out his name as a whisper. His eyes burned once he’d realized he’d yet to blink. His mind raced in a mix of fear, sorrow, and joy that washed over him like a tidal wave.

“Yeah?” Lance blinked in confusion before checking the time. “Don’t you work the night shift at the library tonight? What are you still doing here?” Lance questioned while collecting the room temperature coffee that Keith had no intention of drinking in the first place.

Keith watched him, trying not to reach out to check to see if he was real. Lance looked back at him, a question clearly in his eyes. “I...Uh, I called in sick.” He lied, trying to avoid Lance’s gaze. There was no way any of this was happening, but Keith was too scared to even move to pinch himself in fear that he would wake up. 

Try as he might, he couldn’t avoid Lance’s face appearing inches from his own face. The same face from countless dreams and fantasies that kept Keith awake at night. “What’s up with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He stated with a frown and furrowed eyebrows, not understanding the irony of his words. “Geez, you really must be sick. I’ve never seen you look this pale before.”

Keith was shaking when Lance finally pulled away. This was real. The dimly lit Voltron Cafe was real. The gross coffee stain on his red jacket was real. The beeping from the fresh coffee pot was real. Lance was real and _alive._

Keith would do anything to keep it that way.

Voltron was empty aside from Hunk who was almost certainly listening to Nicki Minaj in the back room while cooking a heavenly lemon tart. It was the shop’s best seller for a very good reason. The crust was decadent and flaky with a mix of sweet and sour lemon filling. Other shops had tried to recruit Hunk, but he always turned them down with little to no hesitation. Allura was grateful for his loyalty and paid him accordingly.

Lance leaned over the glass counter that was designed to showcase the colourful variety of doughnuts and fruit tarts. Keith’s personal favourite was the apple crumble that Coran and Hunk had perfected over a night of Home Improvement shows on HGTV.

With a quick beckoning of his fingers, Lance indicated for Keith to come closer. The sudden forward approach caused him to trip over his own feet during the six step walk from his usual table to the counter. Keith leaned in closer to hear Lance’s whispered words. “Here,” He handed a brown paper cup over the counter with a sweet smile. “On the house. Three milks, one sugars. I hope you feel better soon.”

Hesitating for just a moment, Keith swallows the lump forming in his throat and extends his hand quicker than he’d first intended. He internally cursed himself for seeming so jumpy. His entire body stiffened when Lance’s soft brown skin brushes against his own pale cold fingers.

Despite his best attempts, his hand tightened too much over the paper. The brown paper crushed in his hand, covering the two with burning coffee. Keith watches in horror as the caramel coloured liquid flowed over the the plastic lid, sending the black plastic soaring against the green accent wall with a light wet thwack.

Keith looks up reluctantly at Lance’s face to find him looking horrified, worried, and in pain. An angry pink patch of skin was blooming on his arm, much more extreme than the embarrassed red blush creeping into his cheeks. “Ah geez, I must’ve let go too quickly.” Lance explained, trying to defuse the situation.

Keith shook his head lightly, snapping out of his trance slowly. “No, it’s not your fault. I misjudged the distance.” He assured, looking into the cup at the soft coloured liquid. It was warm in his hand, but also unpleasantly sticky. His shirt felt the same way against his skin, but that wasn’t a good enough reason to leave Lance’s side just yet,

Lance pulled at the dark blue cotton shift manager’s shirt that was drenched with coffee, suddenly realizing the gross state he was in. “I’m gonna go change my uniform.” Lance decided at last, calling out to Hunk to watch the register.

The moment Keith had sat back at his table, he was pulling out his cell phone and journal. By turning his phone on, he was greeted by the date and time. Even though he was sure there was no way any of this was real, his phone disagreed. In solid letters under the clock reading 18:27  was the words “December 19th, 2016.” Exactly 10 days before Lance was killed.

So naturally, Keith did the only logical thing he could think of; Call Pidge.

The little imp was scheming and witty, but if anyone could make sense of what was going on, it was them.

Pidge arrived in the same manner that they’d answered the phone in when Keith called--Groggy and mad. They drug their feet and looked dead to the world. Pidge was rocking bed head that rivaled even Lance’s. Dark shadows rested under their eyes, and Keith swore he noticed drool on their sleeve. Though he decided it would probably be fore the best if he didn’t mention it.

“What.” Pidge stood over Keith’s table, looking exhausted and _very_ pissed. “You’d better have a _very good_ reason for calling me out here.” They demanded, sliding out the opposite chair aggressively.

In truth, Pidge only _seemed_ scary. They were actually a really calm and kind person, just not so much when they were tired or hungry. A well maintained Pidge was a happy Pidge.

Pidge was something of a child genius. They were a high 90s student through their high school career and had even been accepted into an engineering school at the young age of sixteen. Their older brother, Matt, hadn’t even been accepted yet. Something that Pidge would always hold over Matt’s head long into the future.

Though of course, Pidge would have no way of knowing that yet.

So, Keith went about calmly explaining the last ten years of his life. “You mean to tell me,” Pidge adjusted their position in their chair before running a hand over their face, dragging their cheeks down in the process. “You’re from ten years in the future?...And you’re here to save Lance’s life?” Keith grunts an affirmative. “Wow, Keith, I didn’t strike you as the creative type. Either that, or you’re just bat-shit crazy.”

Keith is glaring at them now. “The latter.” He groans out. “Thanks for having faith in me though, Pigeon.”

Pidge pushes their glasses up their nose. “It’s not that I think you’re trying to lie to me, it’s just...Time travel and serial stalkings turned into murder, that’s something out of some poorly written sci-fi anime or something.” Pidge shoots a glance to Lance who is quietly cleaning the store with headphones in, pleasantly unaware of the conversation taking place a few feet away from him. “It’s very... _not_ Keith.”

Keith’s face feels heavy and he knows he must look as dead as he feels. “Yeah, I can’t hold it against you, Pidge.” Keith explains, leaning back in his chair. “I mean, I’m almost convinced that this is a dream.”

Pidge takes a sip of Keith’s coffee, scrunching up their nose and sticking out their tongue in disgust. “Wow, that sounds like a really shitty dream.”

“I’d say,” Keith grins slightly so the corners of his mouth raise crookedly. “You’re in it.”

“You know what...I’m too tired to be offended.” Pidge shrugs, crossing their legs. “Glad to know that even as an old geezer you’re still an asshole.”

Keith notices Lance putting out the “CLOSED” sign in front of the store. He decides that it’s time to go, grabbing his jacket and tossing his coffee in the bin. Naturally, he doesn’t want to leave Lance, but he know’s he will be find for the next ten days. Still, he can’t shake the feeling that he shouldn’t leave Lance’s side.

Pidge adjusts their backpack before looking over their shoulder at Keith. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, time traveller.” Pidge says flatly, waving goodbye over their shoulder. “Let me know if anything else timey happens, like you wake up tomorrow as a five year old.” Pidge lets out a sarcastic laugh. “ _That_ would be truly terrifying.”

Keith watches them walk away for a moment, just thinking about the events of December 20th. He wondered over in his mind about all the things that are supposed to happen tomorrow.

_Oh._

“Hey, Pigeon!!” He calls out, grabbing their attention. “Tomorrow morning, Matt is going to receive his acceptance letter from UOA.”

Pidge pauses for a moment. “If that’s true, then we’ll talk more about your time travel pining.”

“I’m not pining!”

.

That night, Keith returns to his apartment from ten years ago. Every feature from the apartment was the same, even the way that dishes had piled up on the counter from the two nights prior. Keith mentally shook his fist at the universe for not sending him back to a day when he’d happened to be productive the night before.

Keith spent the rest of the evening cleaning dishes in his run down studio apartment.   



	2. Call Me Maybe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith takes a sip and waits. Eventually Pidge collects themselves. “Okay, so you’re a superhero.” They decide at last.  
> Keith chokes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to name each individual chapter after a different aggressively poppy song, so have fun with that.   
> Also, I have a paper due tomorrow morning but I hate myself so here ya go.

**December 20th; early morning.**

The strangest thing about waking up from a dream within a dream is that the layout of the room you wake up in is different from the one you’re used to. Keith makes a mental note of this from the floor of his rundown apartment. He’d never set an alarm in the last ten years, so the scheduled blaring from his left was the cause of what had scared him out of bed. Quite literally. 

It was 7 am.  _ Why  _ was it 7 am? 

Keith rolled onto his side and reached up to stop the assault on his ears. His phone was the culprit, a reminder had been set for 7 on the dot so Keith would phone into the radio station. He suddenly remembered another event from December 20th. It was Call Me Maybe day. 

Maybe today wasn’t off to a terrible start after all.  

December 20th; Morning. 

Okay, so  _ maybe  _ today wasn’t off to a  _ great  _ start. Keith had broken a plate, cut his finger on a shard of glass, and dropped a garbage bag while talking out the trash. He was just too excited and nervous about seeing Lance today. He looks up from the bathroom sink where he’d been washing his cut hand. He makes eye contact with his reflection. “I must seem crazy.” He mumbles, shaking his head. He really hopes he’s wrong. 

**December 20th ; Morning**

The walk to Voltron was a sluggish one. Keith was never one to believe in bad luck, but he found himself avoiding every crack in the sidewalk. He didn’t know what kind of bad luck sidewalks could possibly give, but he sure as hell didn’t want to anger the universe today.

When Keith pushes open the wooden door to Voltron, the familiar chiming of the welcome bell greeted him. “Good morning!” Lance attempts to say cheerfully, but ends up yawning towards the latter half. His hair is sticking up on one side, looking like his hair had only been brushed on the right side. His shirt is untucked and wrinkled, meaning Allura wasn’t there to yell at him this shift. 

Even if Keith wasn’t from the future he’d know that. 

“Just the usual.” He yawns back, resting his arms on the glass counter with exact change in hand. 

“Stop that!” Lance smacks his arms on the counter, trying to avoid yawning again. He takes the cash and puts it into the register. Lance wasn’t graceful in the kitchen. Not by a longshot. He lifts the coffee pot with a clang and shakily pours the hot liquid sloppily into a coffee cup. He then adds the milk with long pours. 1...2...3. 

Lance slams down the metal jug. “Hunk!” Lance calls back into the kitchen. “Is that Call Me Maybe?! Turn that up!!” To which Hunk happily obliges. 

Keith feigns disgust when the poppy lyrics begin. “Ugh. Who even likes that song?” Keith does. “Who in their right mind would ever request a song like that?” Keith did. 

“I’ll have you know  _ many  _ customers love my singing.” 

“Not me.” Keith’s lying. 

Lance wiggles his eyebrows at Keith with a shrug. “Your loss, Mullet.” He taunts, sprinkling one packet of sugar into the cup. He sticks out his tongue and takes out his black sharpie. He scribbles onto the cup a few letters. He hums lightly. “I’ve got a cup of coffee for...Keith?” He calls out into the empty room over Keith’s head. “Oh well.” He sighs. “He sounds like a loser anyway.” 

Keith grabs the cup from his hand. “ _ God, _ you’re such a nerd.” He jabs. He means it affectionately, and Lance knows it, but he still acts wounded. 

When Keith turns to leave, Lance belts out the lyrics. “All the other BOYS try to  _ CHASE ME,”  _ Keith groans loudly. Lance has a nice singing voice when he isn’t acting like an idiot. Though Keith enjoys this stupid side of him too. He enjoys it far more than the fake Lance that he tries to show to strangers and acquaintances. “Here’s my number, so  _ Call me Maybe _ !” 

Keith looks up from the  _ incredibly  _ interesting cup of coffee to see Lance striking a goofy pose. Keith lifts the cup to hide his growing smile. He knows he  _ should _ be more on guard around Lance at the moment, but it’s been ten years and Keith can barely hold back his joy every time he sees him. It’s almost like the last ten years were just a dream and nothing bad happened whatsoever. 

Besides, Lance seems perfectly fine. He’s smiling, singing, and working as if nothing is wrong. So that’s the way it must be, right? 

The bell rings and Pidge enters the coffee shop like a bat out of hell. They spot Keith at his usual table and make a beeline straight for him. There’s a glint in their eyes, meaning Keith was right and Pidge is  _ very  _ confused. “Did you laugh when he tore the letter slightly by accident?” Keith asks, rubbing salt into the wound. 

“How did you--” Pidge stops short of pulling out a metal chair when they see the look on Lance’s face. Anyone can stay in Voltron as long they pay. The exception to this is near closing hours when it gets really cold outside and not many people are in the shop. “One coffee. Black, five sugars.” The order and wait, glaring at Keith all the while. 

Lance puts it on their tab and brews the cup. “You’re never going to get taller if you keep drinking like that.” He slides it over the counter. Lance is a bit of a genius when it comes to subtly getting his way. He’s the type of person who would leave a door open after an argument so that the other person would have to stand up and close it after him. 

It was petty, but it worked every time. 

Pidge slides back their chair so that it scrapes the floor just enough to make a shrill screech but didn’t damage the tile. “You could’ve brought it to the table.” They say bitterly. They’re dead tired from waking up early. Matt woke them so they could be there for emotional support when he opens the letter. Keith remembers the way that Pidge complains about how exhausted they are while bragging about how proud they are to Lance and Hunk ten years ago. 

“And  _ you  _ could tip every once in awhile.” Lance retorts sarcastically, leaning against the back counter where the coffee machines are. He thinks he looks really clever and cool, but in reality he just looks like a lanky teenager trying to impress his friends. Which would be true if Lance hadn’t just turned twenty  that year. 

Pidge grabs the cup from the counter smugly. “You want a tip?” Lance nods. “You’ve got burnt toast in your teeth.” They say flatly before taking a sip from the cup. 

Lance makes a choking sound. He checks his reflection in the metal coffee pot and, much to his horror, Pidge was correct. Keith chokes on his coffee at the horrified expression on Lance’s face before he retreats to the bathroom. 

“I don’t know how you can drink that.” Keith notes, nodding at Pidge’s cup once they return to the table. 

They flop down into the metal chair. “You are what you eat, so I’ve decided to assume my final form--the void.” Keith chuckles at how Pidge calmly delivers the line. “Now stop trying to distract me. How did you know Matt was going to receive his letter today?”  

Pidge doesn’t wait for a reply because they already know the answer. Their foot is tapping rapidly now, desperately trying to make sense of what was happening. “Okay, do it again and I’ll believe you.” 

Keith thinks back to the December 20th of ten years ago. He requests Call me Maybe on the radio, Matt gets his acceptance letter, Pidge points out the toast stuck in Lance’s teeth (much less aggressively), and…”Hunk comes out with a tray of desserts and spills them on Lance!” Keith remembers suddenly. 

“Oh that’s heartbreaking.” Pidge adds in between sips. Keith nods somberly in reply. 

Sure enough, Lance returns to the counter and the two wait patiently. He lightly taps a beat onto the counter, knocking a napkin off onto the floor behind him. Keith decides that now is a good time to intervene. Hunk comes out of the kitchen, looking like the embodiment of sunshine in his yellow uniform. His foot connects with the napkins edge, removing all traction from his shoes. He flails his arms, sending the poor lemon desserts to their demise. 

It’s unfortunate, but Keith can’t save them all and chooses to pull Lance gently yet swiftly aside. A pile of Lemon pastry connects with where Lance had once been standing, leaving everyone confused by how Keith had moved so fast in the exact moment Lance should’ve been hit. “Thanks.” Lance stumbles out in a dazed voice. 

“No problem.” Keith smiles and grabs one sugar packet from the counter. Feeling smug at his subtle coverup, he returns to his table where Pidge is waiting.

Their mouth is slack, paper cup mere inches from their mouth. Keith can see the gears working in their head . Keith takes a sip and waits. Eventually Pidge collects themselves. “Okay, so you’re a superhero.” They decide at last.

Keith chokes. 

“How the hell did you come to that conclusion?” He questions them between coughs. Some coffee that’d been in his mouth a few seconds ago was now drenching through his plain black shirt, making this the second day in a row that he’d worn his coffee. “Me, a superhero? What, like Superman?” 

Pidge hums thoughtfully into their own cup for a moment, trying to hide the forming grin. “I don’t know, I always saw you as more of the Aquaman type.” 

Keith feigns a hurt expression, holding his clenched fist over his heart. He balls up the material of his jacket in his hand. His pale skin only made the red material look even louder than before. “First of all; rude. Second of all; sticking to this whole time travel gay romance thing, wouldn’t I be more of a Max Caulfield?” 

Pidge exhales a laugh, setting down their cup lightly. “Wouldn’t that make Lance Chloe?” 

“Bitch,  _ I’m  _ Chloe!” His face scrunches up in disgust and anger. 

“Alright then, you edgy teenager who is clearly gay for their best friend.” They mumble tiredly. Other groggy patrons shoot the two angry looks over their shoulders. The citizens of Altea are normally kind, hearted when it’s not 8 am and they’ve had their morning coffee. That patience just isn’t there when these factors aren’t present. “Could you try to tone it down though? Aren’t you like thirty?” 

Keith groans. “You’re only as old as you feel, Pigeon.” He assures, hoping that his wise words will affect Pidge’s outlook on life. 

Their face scrunches up in disgust. “Didn’t you complain about how your boss was a  _ sadist  _ that doesn’t take your  _ ‘rickety old bones’ _ into account when divvying up the workload like two, three days ago?” 

“That was  _ years _ ago.” Keith scoffs, finishing the last of his coffee. He crumples the paper and tosses it towards the bin, hitting it off the rim and landing on the floor. He them proceeds to shamefully walk over, pick it up, and then place it somberly among the other trash. Pidge gets their cup in on the first try. They admire the perfect toss with a self-satisfied look, growing even more smug when they notice the frown on Keith’s face.

The two order hot chocolates and prepare to leave. When the morning crowd starts to pile into Voltron, the casual patrons take this as a sign to vacate the premises. Keith was reluctant to leave, but his priority was to devise a plan with Pidge. It wasn’t exactly how Keith had planned to spend his day, but strategizing was important too. 

**December 20th ; Late Morning.**

Despite the cloudless sky, the cold chill of the winter morning made even the blinding sun feel frigid. Normally, the first snow of the season is in late November to early December but it had been an off year. If memory served correctly--which of course it did--the first snow of the season would be on Christmas Eve. 

A chilling wind blows past Keith, seeping the cold into his bones. He shivers and pulls his jacket tighter around himself. “Do you think Lance knows he’s being stalked?” Pidge asks, sniffling into their sleeve. 

It’s a good question. Had Lance been acting weird lately? Keith concludes almost instantly that he’s acting the same as he did every day--smiley, loud, and obnoxiously flirty to every living thing that wasn’t Keith. 

It was honestly a little insulting. 

“I don’t think so.” He replies, breathing out into the cooling cup of hot coffee. “He’s all smiles and sunshine at work.”

Pidge hums thoughtfully. They don’t seem too convinced by Keith’s logic. “But don’t you think that Lance has been taking a lot of shifts lately?” They ask, already knowing that answer. Keith never thought of it that way. The thought made him furious. Had the stalking gotten so bad that Lance didn’t feel safe at his own home? “Isn’t he just trying to handle this in a very  _ Lance  _ way?” 

It was probably exactly what he was doing. Keith looked for other hints from yesterday. He  _ had  _ seemed jumpy and anxious the day before. Normally, he was efficient yet lazy towards the end of a shift--not the type to actually go about cleaning Voltron unless hounded first. If Pidge was correct (which they probably were)--Lance was trying to keep his mind at ease before the walk home. 

That’s really  _ not  _ good. 

“Okay then,” Keith kept his voice steady. He was an awful mix of terrified and furious. Terrified  _ for  _ Lance. Furious  _ at  _ Lance. He wondered why he couldn’t just trust his friends when he was in trouble. Why was he so damn infuriating?! “Do you have a plan?” 

Pidge scoffs, letting out an airy sound that catches Keith off guard. They look bemused. “Aren’t  _ you  _ the superhero?” It comes across as a joke, but they mean it seriously.  _ Huh _ . Keith didn’t have them pegged as the type to believe him so readily. What’s next? Hunk’s won the last four seasons of masterchef? 

Actually, that was far more likely than Pidge going along with this all so easily. Maybe he should give the behemoth and imp more credit than he does. 

“Yes,  _ but _ …” Keith draws out the word, leaning into their side as he does it. “Every superhero has a loveable witty sidekick.” They look ready to interject so Keith continues hurriedly. “That’s you, Pigeon. You’re the brains of the operation.” He finishes while indicating with a paper cup.

Pidge looks ready to interrupt, but the appeal of being a potential superhero is just too appealing. “Can’t you just walk up to him and just, I don’t know…” Pidge snaps their fingers into guns and lays on a suave voice. “Heeeey Baby, can I walk you home? You like jazz?”

There’s an awkward pause. Keith groans with a pained expression. “ _ Oh god _ , you’re fired. Nevermind, I’ll just ask Shiro.” He bluffs, knowing that Pidge learned everything they know from Shiro. He was like they’re other older brother. “I’d rather  _ not  _ become the stalker.” 

Pidge shrugs their shoulders and rolls their eyes. “It was a  _ joke _ , Keith.” They explain, sarcasm dripping from their voice. “Master plans aren’t formed overnight. I’ll think of something by tomorrow.” They promise. 

He would be lying if said he wasn’t disappointed and anxious, but Pidge always kept to their word. If they said they’d have a plan, then they’d have a plan by tomorrow. The thought of Lance having to endure the stalker for another day was upsetting to say the least. 

Pidge’s phone goes off in their pocket, Littleroot Town’s Theme blares at full volume from their pocket. It was the ringtone that Pidge had set for their mother ages ago once they left for University but never got around to changing it after the joke got old. They groan and look at their screen. “Mom wants me to go home. We’re having a celebratory brunch for Matt and I can’t be late.”  

Keith nods. “I know. It’s fine, Pigeon.” 

“Thanks, Keith.” They wave him goodbye and check their green wrist watch before heading to the bus stop. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” 

Keith watches his friend’s retreating form disappearing across the park. He wonders if there’s anything he should tell Pidge before they go.  _ Oh no. _ “Don’t order the pancakes! You’ll get sick if you do!” He forewarns, hoping they heard him. 

_ Probably not.  _

**December 20th ; Afternoon**

Keith spends his day in and out of mall stores. He doesn’t spend much money on things aside from snatching three tubes of eyeliner quickly for Shiro. He obviously doesn’t know it yet, but the brand will stop shipments later into the week. Shiro isn’t normally theatrical, but the poor old man needs his winged eyeliner. He was devastated when his usual store told him there were no more in stock. So naturally, Keith would just  _ happen  _ to have a few extras laying around. The poor guy already had white hair at the young age of 25, he didn’t need any more stress. 

He was about to grab some dinner when he notices some matching clock keychains in a small shop. So he stands there awkwardly staring into the store wondering what would be worse--walking into a store designed for pre-teen girls, or letting an opportunity to be a sentimental ass pass him by?

He decides that as a 20 year old punk-rock hipster man, he doesn’t need matching keychains.

He enters the store. 

Keith tries not to let the odd looks from the young girls and their parents get to him. His outward appearance contrasts the bubblegum pink store interior. It’s unnerving to say the least, but Keith does his best to persevere. He quickly grabs the keychains and calmly walks to the register. 

He expects a giggle or an odd look from the cashier, but when he notices the seemingly indifferent staff member surrounded by large minion merchandise, he calms down a little. “Just this?” She asks, clicking her tongue. 

The girl doesn’t look a day over 17 and seems more suited for a job at Hot Topic than she does at this kids store. Judging from her expression, she doesn’t get paid enough to put up with these kids. “$17.60. Cash or Credit?” 

Keith makes a strangled sound low in his throat from the shock. Almost eighteen dollars for two keychains?! That’s absurd! He looks up at the cashier in confusion and horror. She simply nods her head that, yes, that is the correct price. “Cash, I guess.” He mumbles solemnly, sliding over a 20 dollar bill. 

The cashier hands him the correct change and then quickly smiles brightly at the child standing behind him. “Hello little Princess! How was your experience today?” She questions in a chipper voice. Keith takes this as a sign that he should leave. 

Stuffing the small pink bag into his pocket, Keith decides that  _ maybe  _ it would be for the best to not let his impulses get the best of him next time. 

 

Lance notices when Keith walks into Voltron almost immediately. He has his hair tied back lazily and he looks exhausted and embarrassed for some reason. Lance notes that even though some of the bangs are tucked behind his ear, the falls into his face obnoxiously. His face is slightly flushed from the cool weather outside and his hair is blown to the side from a sudden gust of wind. 

It’s only once a customer points it out to him that he notices he’s over pouring the coffee. He blames Keith and his stupid hair. 

Apologizing profusely, he pours the man another cup (correctly this time) and waves him goodbye. He’s already brewing the correct cup when Keith finally approaches the counter. He orders a doughnut and two coffees--one of which Lance had already brewed and the other is two creams, three sugars. Lance’s heart sinks. 

He doesn’t understand why, but the thought of Keith ordering for two bothered him. He took the change from him--exact, as always--and slid the order over the counter awkwardly. 

Keith leaves the store as quickly as he appears. There was no conversation more than the brief interaction, causing Lance to curse the “two cream, three sugars” mystery person even more. Of course, he wasn’t  _ jealous _ or anything like that. In fact, he hoped Keith was having a  _ great  _ time with the despicable person who liked almost the same amount of sweetness as Pidge. 

This didn’t stop him from grinding his teeth as he cleaned the store for closing hours though. 

 

It was close to 8pm when Hunk shooed him out of the kitchen so Lance could get changed. He was reluctant, but he knew he’d have to leave eventually.

Lance had made it a habit of carrying his uniform in a plastic shopping bag for convenience. Unfortunately that meant that his clothes was always wrinkled by the end of the day. Lance always said he’d start carrying his clothes in a duffle bag or something to that degree, but he never got around to it because of how rushed he always was in the mornings.

Lance pushed open the cafe door lightly once he’d gotten changed out of his uniform. He peeked left and right promptly, surveying the area for any movement. He exhales a sigh of relief when the wooden door lightly hits his back. The security lights flick on, putting Lance at ease when he doesn’t see any movement on either side of the store. 

It was at this point that an abrupt and quiet sneeze comes from Lance’s left. He lets out a girlish scream and takes off running with a start. It doesn’t help his heart any when he hears loud and quick footsteps following after him. “Lance, what the hell?!” 

He pauses. He recognizes that low and angry sounding voice. “Keith?” It’s at this point that Lance slows to see that, yes, Keith was the one following him after all. 

Keith’s face is flush red from running. The tip of his nose is pink and slightly snotting onto himself. He sniffles and pulls his dark brown scarf closer up to his face. A scarf that Lance doesn’t remember seeing earlier. It is at this point that he notices the cup of coffee in Keith’s right hand. He smirks slightly. “Did you get stood up?” He questions, feeling that he made a smooth recovery. 

“What? No, I uh…” Keith looks flustered as he stumbles over his words. There’s a pause. Keith pushes the coffee cup outwards, looking anywhere but at Lance. “You seemed on edge today, so it seemed like a good idea to wait until your shift was over so you could rant.” Oh. 

_ Oh.  _

Lance felt like an asshole. He graciously takes the paper cup from Keith’s hand, accidentally brushing against his icy fingers. He takes a sip of the coffee, allowing the cold liquid to coat his throat. Keith had been waiting outside for Lance for close to an hour in freezing cold temperatures. Man. Lance felt awful. 

So they walk, dragging their feet all the while. Keith quietly curses Pidge under his breath. He wouldn’t forgive himself if he let Lance walk home alone again. It was a dumb excuse, but it was all he could come up with in such a short period of time. 

Lance’s shoulders sag a little, but he appreciates the gesture nonetheless. The two walk in a pleasant silence, neither willing to break it until Lance notices the hot pink plastic poking out of Keith’s pocket. “What is that?” Lance inquires, reaching for the bag. 

“Hey!” 

Keith dodges Lance’s hands, making certain to keep the bag out of reach. Lance moves forward and Keith moves backwards. Mirroring each other’s movements, the two dance around each other’s hands until they’re wheezing in tired laughter. “Seriously, what’s so secret about the bag?” 

Keith holds the bag just barely out of his reach awkwardly. “It’s just some dumb keychains!” He blurts out, shooting an embarrassed look at Lance. “Well how about you? Why have you been acting so weird lately?” He demands. 

It’s at this moment that Lance remembers what was bothering him. He retracts his arms and shoots a look over his shoulder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He mumbles out. Realizing how close he is to his own home, he collects himself. “I haven’t been acting weird.” He turns his back on Keith. “Goodnight, Mullet!” 

“Lance!” Keith calls out after him, feeling a mixture of frustration and relief when he watches Lance slam his apartment door behind himself. He may have flubbed that interaction, but at least he’ll sleep well knowing Lance is safe at home. It puts his mind at ease, if only a little. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it’s almost 12am here and I’m very proud that I got this all typed up before Tuesday is over. Why did I promise weekly updates again? Who knows?? Sure as hell not me, that’s for sure. Anyway, I’m sure this chapter is plagued with a mess of errors or just poor writing. So if you spot a mistake or ten, comment it and I’ll edit it. See you next Tuesday because I actually hate myself!! :D Thanks and cheers, loves!   
> -Side note; Keith isn't going to awkwardly follow Lance home for the rest of the fic, I swear.


	3. One More Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wow,” Keith whistles. “Nice place you’ve got here, Lance.” He jokes.   
> “Yeah thanks,” He fakes a sheepish expression. “I thought you’d feel comfortable surrounded by your own kind.” He retorts, not missing a beat as he tosses the clear plastic bag into the dumpster that reads stay in school in large white letters painted over the black chipping paint of the dumpster.   
> “Rude!” He gives Lance’s shoulder a light push.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I wanted to clarify a few things before I continue this story any further, such a settings and timeline and reasonings/characters.   
> A little note about Lance and his stalker; the inspiration for Lance’s stalker comes from a real life experience. To give some clarifications about the effects of being stalked, you tend to have paranoia and lose sleep. Some people will take less or more hours at work to avoid certain places where your stalker could be. So, in Lance’s case, the stalker doesn’t enter Voltron (because let’s be real here Allura would catch onto them and unleash space mom rage upon them.) but rather chooses to wait around Lance’s house, call his phone after hours, and lurk around the entrances so they can wait for Lance.   
> Lance’s stalker is not from the cast of VLD and is just some random character from Lance’s high school career. So you don’t have to worry about any character from the original cast going psycho and killing the smol cuban boy  
> Also, a little warning about stalking involving you personally or a loved one from someone who has been stalked. If you are being stalked or think someone you care about, please talk about it with the person being stalked or someone you can trust. Keeping stalking between you and your stalker is very dangerous! Many people won’t speak about being stalked because they are afraid of their stalker, but ironically enough it only comes out that a person is being stalked after a violent act has occurred--as could be seen from Lance’s death. While I don’t think that Keith and Pidge’s idea for how to deal with Lance’s stalker, it is the most likely. If you do not want to get police involved with a stalker, make sure that you or the person being stalked isn’t alone at all times and if the acts continue then please get police involved. I can’t say that these are correct way to deal with a stalker with 100% certainty, but it’s a degree better than keeping stalking a secret. Stay safe out there guys.

**December 21st : Morning**

Keith tends to have a bad feeling when he wakes up in the morning that he can only describe as being hit by a truck after spending three days drying out in the desert. It’s scratchy and painful and Keith  _ hates  _ it. He slept well though knowing that Lance made it home safely the night before, but this doesn’t change the gross morning taste of his mouth that not even the reassuring thought can cancel out. 

He’s still half asleep when he stumbles into Voltron. This morning’s song is yet to play, but Keith decided on One More Night simply because Lance has this cute habit of trying to sing both main and background vocals in a song. The result of this is always him running out of breath while he desperately tries to keep up with the prerecorded Maroon 5 song. It’s charming, but the best part is that he gets to tease Lance about how out of shape he is. 

It’s when he’s taking his first sip of coffee that Pidge decides it is a good time to drag themselves sluggishly into Voltron. They make a beeline for Keith with a small tea stained notebook in hand. “What’ve you got for me, Pidge?” He greets. 

“Nothing!” Pidge flops themselves down in defeat, basking in the morning light coming in from the window next to them. “Nada! Zilch! Absolutely  _ no  _ plans!” They slam their head down onto the table, causing the items to shake. Keith catches his cup moments before his ‘ _ days without wearing coffee’ _ counter can turn back to 0. 

Keith lightly pulls the tea notebook away from Pidge. The pages are thin and gross, meaning Pidge was pulling an all-nighter and got clumsy when they started getting frustrated from the lack of results. There are footnotes written in black ink scribbled below each individual plan pointing out the flaws in the each plot. 

“Nothing?” He blinks. 

Pidge’s head launches up off of the table. It is then that Keith notices the dark circles under Pidge’s tired eyes. “Absolutely nothing.” They state coldly with an agitated look in their eyes. “I couldn’t come up with any plans for you to  _ casually  _ protect Lance at all times. It’s just not going to work. I--” Pidge is getting increasingly worked up over this. 

It’s at this point that Allura makes her entrance. She looks stunning with her white hair tied into a long braid, contrasting her dark skin beautifully. Her light blue uniform is ironed and straight under her black apron, looking degrees more professional than Lance. “Good morning, you two.” She greets Pidge and Keith with a calm and musical voice. He didn’t know where her accent was from, but it was well pronounced with every individual word. 

When Allura is halfway across the store that Pidge makes a low scream. Their eyes are wide and bright. “That’s it! Allura!” Pidge cries out quietly, careful not to disturb the grumpy Voltron customers. Keith gives Pidge a puzzled look but they just wave a dark green shirt sleeve at him. “Can you help Keith? He got laid off at the library and  _ reeeeally  _ needs a job to pay rent.” They explain, calmly pushing their glasses up with a pout. 

Allura shifts her eyes back to Keith. “Is this true?” She questions.

Keith doesn’t want to lie to the Voltron mom, but Pidge hasn’t left him much of a choice. “Yeah?” He responds meekly. 

Allura’s eyes twinkle mischievously and Keith knows that she’s onto him. She clears her throat and straightens her posture. “I suppose an interview couldn’t hurt.” She pulls out the chair opposite of Keith and folds her hands onto the table. Pidge takes this as their sign that it’s time for them to leave. They give Keith a look of approval and exit Voltron. “Full time or part time?” 

“Full time.” 

Allura nods once, making a note of this in her head. She was something of a nice Gretchen Weiners--her hair was big because it was so full of secrets and academic knowledge. Maybe secrets? Keith still has a lot of questions about Allura since he doesn’t know a lot about her aside from the fact that her dad is powerful and Coran is her childhood friend. 

“When can you start?” 

Keith shrugs. “Now, I guess?” 

“Right now?” 

Keith gives a confused ‘yeah’ and looks to see that Lance is demanding Hunk turn up the radio. Oh no, he’s missing One More Night! He frowns. When he looks back to Allura, she is beaming at him with a mischievous smile. She looks from Lance to Keith and narrows her eyes. He takes a drink of his coffee to cover up his embarrassment from being caught staring. “Who has the best butt at Voltron.”

Keith chokes on his drink, setting his days counter back to 0. His eyes discreetly wander up to Lance who is currently trying to sing a passionate duet with himself. His back is turned as he reaches for a coffee pot. The answer  _ is  _ Lance, obviously. “Y-You?” His voice cracks as he answers. 

Allura laughs suddenly, throwing her head backwards as the loud sound is forced from her. Keith feels even more embarrassed with her laughing at him. She’s beautiful, sure, but Shiro would kill him if he sincerely tried to put the moves onto Allura. Not that she’d ever like Keith as more than just a friend, but Shiro would kill him for trying. “Alright, you start right now. Welcome aboard, Paladin.” 

**December 21st ; Late Morning**

A word to the wise from your favourite gay time travelling 20 year old boy: Delete your Youtube account and burn your phone because  _ no one  _ wants to relive their cringey emo phase. Keith thinks this in his head as he scrolls through his countless pop punk songs and turns his phone in his hand, deciding to make a new work playlist when he gets home. 

“Whatcha doing, newbie?” Lance asks from behind Keith. He flops onto the trainee’s shoulder, looking through the songs before Keith can stop him. “Oooh that’s edgy.” 

Keith glares up at the slightly taller boy. He is wearing the new uniform that Allura gave him and he’s slowly dying at how loud the red outfit looks. He thought the shirt wasn’t going to bother him because it was the same shade as the jacket he wears nearly every day, but the dress shirt under the black apron was far too stiff and awkward. 

“We can’t all like Kesha, Beyonce, and Rihanna.” He retorts, clicking the device off as a new crowd of groggy customers swarms in. 

“ABBA too.” 

“Huh?” Keith doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but the surprised sound escapes him before he can stop it. He hopes he heard Lance wrong.

The lanky Cuban boy looks bashful. “Yeah, ABBA,” He states, taking an old man’s order with a smile. Lance is currently doing a horrible job of teaching Keith what button does what, even though it seems fairly easy to understand. The man orders a coffee with two creams, two sugars. Lance inputs the order at such a quick pace that Keith can’t keep up. “David Bowie, Queen, and Alannah Miles too.”

Oh no. Lance is romantically invested in an actual forty year old mom. 

“Why do I feel like you just insulted me?” Lance asks abruptly. He picks up the coffee pot and hands it to Keith so he can try to pouring the coffee properly. Keith spills the coffee half of the time and doesn’t manage to pour anything the other half of the time. 

“Is there any other dark secrets I should know about your music tastes?” He tries pouring once again with a little more luck this time. The customer is getting impatient now. 

Lance hums in thought for a minute. “I like Rick Astley.” Keith snorts a laugh, spilling the coffee onto the paper cup once again. He growls and starts pouring into a different cup, fully aware of how Lance’s eyes are boring a hole into the back of his head. “Back in high school, I was a pain to try and Rick Roll because I genuinely liked the song.” 

Keith laughs out loud suddenly. “I’m having a  _ really  _ hard time figuring out if you’re twelve or fourty.” 

The customer clears his throat impatiently. It makes sense that he’s angry. Keith  _ has  _ been trying to pour one cup of coffee for close to five minutes. “Here,” Lance reaches around Keith with his lanky arms. “Hold down the top here and the coffee flows easier.” He explains. 

Sure enough, once he holds down the lid he no longer has to pour the coffee at an awkward angle. Lance mixes the cream and sugar so that Keith can take the next order. 

The cash register is a puzzle to him, and the morning crowd surely wasn’t slowing their orders down for him. Keith’s head is spinning by the time that Lance pulls him away to switch places.

“You can pour the coffee,” Lance orders rather sternly. Keith had never seen him in rush-hour work mode before. It was intimidating and kind of  _ hot.  _ He stares at Lance with his mouth slightly ajar as he watches him work and take orders at a frightening speed. Keith snaps out of his daze and gets to work. “Just read the order screen and do as it says. The one at the top is your oldest order.” 

It doesn’t take long for Keith to figure out the coffee system and get into the flow of working. First he grabs the correct cup size for the order. Most times, the customer will order a medium sized coffee, so Keith makes that his starting position. He pours the drink, starting with the just one at a time but he quickly moves up to dual coffee pots. 

When a customer orders additional sides, Keith will bend around Lance to grab a pastry or muffin before sliding the order over the counter. The two move in a rhythm, rarely speaking aside from when Lance announces that a new group of customers has entered the store. Keith isn’t normally a team player, but he finds that Lance compliments his flaws in the workplace. 

It’s only once the morning crowd thins out that the two get a short break. Lance is the first to speak. “We make a good team.” Keith smiles to himself and his face feels odd. It’s not that he doesn’t normally smile, it’s just that this smile feels different--unguarded even. 

Lance jumps up to sit on the counter and mirrors his smile and Keith just  _ melts.  _ He clears his throat and thinks of something to say. “How do you do  _ this  _ every day?” He questions, exhausted already from the few hours of work he’s done. 

“Just wait until the lunch crowd shows up. You haven’t seen anything yet.” He jokes, sliding off of the counter to operate the register once more. He beckons Keith closer. “I guess I’ll have to show you the ropes until you understand it.” 

Keith groans, slightly disappointed that Lance is back to being an ass. “I thought we were bonding!” He whines, rolling his eyes. “Could you just teach me how to use the register without being such a  _ Lance  _ about this?” 

“Did you just use my name as an insult,” He gawks with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “ _ Mullet.”  _

“Shut  _ up, _ ” Keith groans, pressing his palms against Lance’s lips to promptly end the taunting. “Just teach me what these buttons do before I smack you.” He threatens. 

Lance chuckles and does just that after complaining about how Allura doesn’t tolerate violence in the workplace. It is then that she chooses to leave her office to make an appearance. “I see you’re learning your way around the front of the store.” She states, giving a calm and motherly smile. “Go see Hunk and Coran in the kitchen, they’ll teach you where supplies are and see if you’re cut out to be a chef.”

Keith doesn’t make it into the kitchen before the sweet smell hits him. His stomach growls impatiently as he pushes onto the door. It’s when Hunk spots him that he stops working. He gives a small wave just as Coran pops his head around the corner. 

The tall beam of a man looks jovial, grinning from ear to ear with the orange moustache even looking like a smile too. “Salutations, Keith,” He starts striding towards Keith who is desperately trying not to laugh at the two hair nets covering the top of his head and the other strung across his face. “We’re glad to have you here, my boy! If I may though, a touch of advice--Should you perish on the battlefield, others lesser than you will take your place. Don't fight for yourself. Fight for those poor souls.” He explains somberly, speaking in riddles with his moustache mask bouncing each time he opens his mouth. 

“Uh thanks, Coran?” Keith stumbles out, trying to pull away from the arm locking over his shoulders. “We’re still talking about coffee...right?”

Hunk peeks his head up. “Allura wanted us to show you around, but there’s not all that much to show.” He explains, readjusting his apron that he almost certainly brought from home. With the yellow uniform and pink floral apron, it looked like the universe had harnessed the power of sunlight and summer just to create Hunk and bring him into Voltron at this moment. “The coffee sugar is on  _ that  _ shelf, baking sugar is on  _ this  _ shelf. Milk and cream are in the fridge. That’s about it for the counter though.” 

With a loud clap, Hunk clasps his hands together. “Okay, now that that’s out of the way--Let’s cook!” 

Keith has never cooked in his life. “Uh... Hunk?” 

Hunk is all smiles when he turns to Keith. “Yeah, Buddy?” He beams.

“How do you cook?” 

Hunk pales at the question. His face stiffens, removing the smile all at once. “Lance!” He bellows into the shop front. The lanky boy sprints in, looking alarmed. He probably thinks someone is hurt. “Get the trainee out of  _ my  _ kitchen.” He orders sternly. 

Lance looks between the two with a look of confusion flooding his features. Keith shrugs with a look of equal bewilderment. “He can’t cook!” Hunk exclaims, pushing Keith lightly towards the door. “You know my rule, no amateurs in my kitchen!” It’s not  _ technically  _ his kitchen, but as a full time employee who has decided that he has no intention of ever quitting his job, the Voltron kitchen was as good as his. Hunk never went to a culinary arts school, but he has the talent of someone who has graduated with ten years experience. Allura saw this potential and decided to pay him accordingly.

Lance looks alarmed for just a second, raising Keith’s tension level even higher. Am I going to be fired? He wonders with his mind racing a mile a minute. Lance breaks the silence by cackling loudly. He opens his mouth to tease Keith once more but finds the look in the trainee’s eyes chilling. “Don’t.” He warns sternly, glaring at Lance. 

The taller boy waves his hands defensively. “Whoa! Okay!” He jokes, looking into the nearly empty Voltron shop. “I’m not gonna waste my break roasting you. We each get a coffee and dessert for working a four hour shift.” Lance explains, pouring out two coffees for them. “What dessert do you want?” 

Keith leans over the counter, suddenly aware of the sharp pain in his heels. He nods in consideration, knocking a hair from his bun into his face. He tucks it behind his ear and notices Lance staring while he waits for Keith’s answer. “A Lion Lava Doughnut would be great actually.” He sighs, gazing at the dark circular amalgam lovingly through the glass. 

Lance’s face scrunches up in disgust. “First of all; gross.” He picks up the doughnut carefully with the small red plastic tongs and holds the chocolate cake as far away from himself as possible without dropping it. He places the cake inside of a small green paper bag. “Secondly, don’t you even want to know how bad that is for y--” 

“Gonna stop you right there.” Keith interrupts him mid-sentence. He snatches his prize away grumpily with a huff. “If I wanted to know, I’d ask Hunk. He created a masterpiece and as a respectful friend and fan, I shall not question his art.” 

Lance visibly cringes but decides to drop the subject. He grabs a small lemon green tea cake from the case and follows Keith to his usual table. It’s odd that the two have never sat together, so of course Keith decides to make it weird by looking anywhere but at Lance. 

“So what do you think of Voltron?” Lance asks, sensing the uncomfortable tension in the air, Keith wants to hit himself for being so awkward, but instead decides to stuff his face with cake and shrug.  _ Smooth, Keith.  _ “The first few days are stressful, but it gets better.” He says with a reassuring tone. 

Suddenly, Keith realizes there’s only so much doughnut that one socially awkward twenty-ish year old can eat. He swallows the chocolate gooey mess and decides to try making conversation. “What? Allura never throws you any curveballs to keep you on your toes?” 

He expects a witty reply but rather Lance covers his own mouth and giggles loudly. “Oh man,” He wheezes out. “Your teeth look awful!” 

“W-what?” He quietly asks as the horror dawns on him. His face begins to glow and embarrassed shade of crimson. Taking a quick swig of coffee, he swishes the drink around to remove any chocolate grime. This doesn’t stop Lance’s cackling. “ You’re such an  _ ass.”  _

There’s a small napkin tray on the table. Keith grabs a fistfull and throws them at Lance’s head. Most land on the table or the floor, but one catches the air just right and loops around to hit Keith square in the face. By the time the napkin slowly sinks off of his face, Lance is desperately trying not to laugh at him. Keith makes eye contact with Lance and the two can’t help but laugh freely after that, destroying the tension in a few seconds. 

After that, conversation comes naturally and the two spend their break in between bad jokes. Keith sneaks a glance at his coworker immediately after a joke. His heart skips a beat and he curses Pidge for making him aware of how he’s pining for Lance. 

**December 21st ; Evening**

The first thing that Keith notices about working in the food industry is that there’s  _ a lot  _ of standing.Comfortable shoes are fairly important to working behind the counter. Keith wonders if the kitchen staff get to sit down when they’re waiting for their cakes to come out of the oven. 

The shift is coming to an end quicker than Keith thought it would. There are only a few things left to show him before he “passes” the training shift. Lance quickly instructs Keith about dishwasher safety (because “accidents can happen”!) as the final hour approaches. Allura is watching the front of the store and the two chefs are busy cleaning their own work space during closing time. 

It’s when Coran asks Lance to take the trash out that the two stop talking about dishwasher burns and soap protocol. “And back here,” Lance throws open the ‘EMPLOYEE ONLY’ door. “Is the dumpster. We have this alley as a part of the building so if you need to smoke, this is where you go.” Keith gives him a sarcastic look because he clearly isn’t the smoking type.

“Wow,” Keith whistles. “Nice place you’ve got here, Lance.” He jokes. 

“Yeah thanks,” He fakes a sheepish expression. “I thought you’d feel comfortable surrounded by your own kind.” He retorts, not missing a beat as he tosses the clear plastic bag into the dumpster that reads  _ stay in school  _ in large white letters painted over the black chipping paint of the dumpster. 

“Rude!” He gives Lance’s shoulder a light push. 

The two laugh quietly for a second before Keith notices a figure slowly forming at the entrance of the alley. His heart slows down so it feels like it’s stopped beating completely. He looks back at Lance and notices the pale colour of his skin. “Hey, you’re not supposed to be here!” Keith scolds, not taking his eyes off of the figure. 

Lance’s cold fingers curl around Keith’s wrist like a vice grip. “Let’s just go back inside.” He pleads in a voice that sounds weak and shaken. The quiet noise makes Keith’s heart ache. He can’t bring himself to tear his gaze away from the frightened boy. Not even when footsteps begin accelerating towards them. Not even when Lance’s eyes widen to be round and filled with terror. 

Lance scrambles back and throws the door open, pulling Keith into the kitchen hastily. Keith still can’t bring himself to look away from Lance’s face. He’s visibly shaken and hasn’t even noticed that he’s still clutching onto Keith’s arm. 

The realization steamrolls over Keith as he watches Lance. This is what he was trying so desperately to hide from all of his friends. It was real, and it was terrifying. 

“Boys? What’s wrong?” Coran questions, looking up from the stove he’d been cleaning. He looks from Lance’s face to Keith  and calls into the front of the store. “Allura, we need you in the back right now!” He explains through the door quickly before running over to the frightened baristas. 

Allura busts in just as quickly. “What’s the matter?!” She asks with a hint of panic to her normally calm voice. Her expression darkens when she sees the terror on Lance’s face. The employees of Voltron are family to her. Any act against them is an indirect act against Allura as well. 

“There was someone by the dumpster.” Keith answers, finally shifting his attention away from Lance. “They charged at us and I don’t think it was a friendly way to start a game of tag.” 

Allura nods with her expression staying cold. “We’re going to have a staff meeting.” She decides after a moment. Coran nods to her and moves to finish his cleaning as quickly as possible. “No, right now.” She finishes sternly. 

It is then that she returns to the counter. Everyone in the store can hear her as she announces that Voltron is going to be closing shop slightly early today. There are only two customers in the shop and--after taking some free Doughnut & Drink coupons--they take their leave.

They hold their meeting in the furthest booth from the front door. Allura asks Keith to explain what exactly happened. He collects himself and retells the alley events. She hums after he is finished. “If there is someone targeting one of Voltron’s employees, I’d prefer it if you weren’t alone until this mess is sorted out.” She waits until everyone nods in agreement or voices their concerns. “Hunk, Coran, you two live in the same apartment complex, yes?” 

“That is affirmative.” Coran answers with a very Coran way of speaking. 

“You two shall walk home together until this whole mess is resolved.” She orders with a small motherly smile. “Not that it changes much. You two almost always walk together anyway since your shifts normally overlap.” 

The two have been good friends since they started working together. Their eccentric personalities come out in earnest whenever anything about cooking and/or cleaning is involved. It just so happened that the two lived close to one another. This friendship lead to a fair amount of innovation in the workplace. 

“That leaves you two.” Allura ponders for a second, looking at Keith and Lance. “Is there any chance that you two can stay together for a week until this whole ordeal is over?” She asks. 

“Me and  _ Keith?” _ Lance squeaks out, finally broken out of his trance. “Living  _ together _ ?! Allura, we’ll kill each other before the psycho can!” Lance complains, trying to seem cooler than he is. 

Keith tries not to seem too hurt. 

“Why would you think that?” She asks with genuine confusion in her voice. “You two got along just fine today.” 

Keith speaks up while Lance tries to stutter out another reason to not stay with Keith. “What about you though?” 

Allura shrugs. “I’ll just call Shiro. I’m sure he won’t mind.” She says. It’s a good idea. He  _ is  _ her boyfriend and would most likely not have a problem with walking her to and from work every day if it meant keeping her safe. “That just leaves you two. Seeing as there is no other alternative,” She plays with a stray hair as she thinks. “Keith do  _ you  _ have any objections?” 

“Not really.” Lance slumps over the table in defeat. Keith can’t figure out why Lance is so against the idea, but it cuts deep. He had thought that they were friends, but Lance seemingly wants nothing to do with him now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so it’s about 12am here (why do I always update these at midnight.) and I had to take a break because I realized that Breaking Free has the same amount of syllables as Suffering so imagine the song from HSM with suffering instead. This is my late night/early morning gift to you. Why any of you find this story enjoyable is beyond my level of understanding but hey, if it makes you happy then see you next Tuesday for another chapter of this dumpster fire. 
> 
> Also does anyone know why dumpsters have messages like "stay in school" "don't do drugs" on them? I've always wondered that. Cheers and see you next Tuesday!


	4. Crazy Little Thing Called Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s sappy, sure, but Keith would gladly dip his hands into ice water if it meant he gets to hold Lance’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: So I’m a horrible writer (“SAY IT ISN’T SO” I hear you sarcastically crying out. Except not really, because this is a fanfiction I have uploaded online and this is an imaginary conversation) and I missed an update. I got a new job recently that I genuinely like and I had no less than four papers due in the last two weeks so I reluctantly put this fic on the back burner for a week. Such an odd expression truly. Also, There’s another 2-3 chapters of this fic before it’s complete and after this I’ll be uploading a ~1000 word joke story about Keith circa Blade of Marmora episode.   
> AND THEN I HAVE ANOTHER KLANCE FIC IN THE WORKS. I don’t know why I yelled that, but I really like this concept too. It’s a...well, I’ll just leave the first draft title here and let you guys wonder what AU I’m working with next. Working title is: I Can’t Wait to See You Again.   
> I can’t wait to write more pining Keith.   
> Also AYYYYYY IT'S 4/20   
> I'M REALLY ENTERTAINED BC I DIDN'T THINK IT WAS ACTUALLY 4/20 AND THEN I STARTED LAUGHING UNCONTROLLABLY.   
> I shouldn't have internet at 2 am

**December 21st : Late Night**

Keith can only think to describe Lance’s apartment as “Ikea chic” if a dump truck had come through Ikea earlier that day. His home is messy to put it nicely. There is clean laundry thrown onto the blue fabric sofa while dirty laundry lays on the back. Keith scrunches up his nose and tries to find anywhere that is clean. 

An awkward tower of cups and bowls is balancing in the sink and on the counter. Grime and dried food are stuck on the plates and...is that  _ mold _ ?! Keith gags slightly and holds his duffle closer to his chest. 

_ I can’t do this! I cannot do this!!  _ Keith chants in his head. He notices Lance’s embarrassed expression and chooses to swallow the lump in his throat.  _ I  _ can  _ do this for Lance.  _ He thinks it but he is uncertain about the affects this environment could have on their health. 

“It’s not always like this.” Lance mumbles meekly while trying to hide his face by turning his head, but his short hair doesn’t shield the glowing red tips of his ears. “It’s just that lately I’ve been really busy with work and stuff.” 

Keith’s heart skips a beat from the bashful tone of voice. Lance is desperately trying to seem cool and mature to impress Keith and he’s failing  _ miserably.  _ Though he may not seem cool, he sure as hell looks endearing to Keith. 

Keith hides his smile behind his hand. Lance is adorable when he’s flustered. He isn’t entirely sure how he’s going to make it through the week living in the same house as Lance. 

Placing his duffle bag on a relatively clean portion of floor, Keith further inspects the apartment. “What time do we start our shift tomorrow?” Keith asks, checking the time on his phone. It’s 10pm. Grabbing clothes from Keith’s apartment took close to an hour, so it’s getting very late. 

With all the mess in the apartment, it should take until about 2am to get everything cleaned and have some dinner. “11am.” Lance answers, still looking away from Keith as the last of his blush goes away. “Why?” 

Keith hums in thought for a moment. He crosses the apartment with determination in his step. “You do the laundry, I’ll deal with all the garbage.” He orders with a casual shrug. The last thing Keith would want to do is touch Lance’s dirty clothes, so naturally he chooses to deal with rotting noodle cups instead. 

Lance is frozen in place for a moment. There’s a look of confusion, horror, and gratitude on his face. Keith raises an eyebrow at him as he scoops up the laundry to retreat into the bathroom where Keith assumes the washing machine is. 

It takes two trips to get all of the laundry into the room. Keith only has a quarter of the garbage dealt with when Lance begins folding the clean clothes on the couch. Keith can’t help but wonder if Lance’s been living off instant noodles for months now. 

An hour passes and the two are done their respective tasks. “Okay, dishes next.” Keith explains while tying off the fifth and final garbage bag. “You wash and I’ll dry them.” 

It’s glaringly obvious that Lance buys all of his dishes at the Dollar Store and Thrift Shops. One of the plates Keith dries has a gross “1 Dollar? Wow!” sticker peeling off of the bottom. He also chuckles when he begins drying a plastic Dora the Explora bowl-- _ With a built in spoon!!  _

There’s a pleasant silence aside from the quiet splashing of water and metal hitting porcelain. “Can you turn on the radio?” Lance asks, pulling his sleeves up so he can reach further into the soapy water. Keith slings the purple dish towel over his shoulder and begins fiddling with the radio. 

The device comes to life with a loud click and a whirring sound. Crazy Little Thing Called Love starts up halfway through the song almost immediately. Keith looks to see what radio station Lance had been listening to and reads TRACK 5 written in digital blocky letters across the small screen. “Oh my  _ God. _ ”

Lance flashes him a toothy and crooked grin. “That’s my mixtape.” He jokes, rinsing off a slightly cracked red dinner plate. He passes the plate to Keith.

Keith groans and pulls the cloth over the dish until it is mostly dry. He stands on his tiptoes to reach into the cupboard. He glares silently at Lance and his lanky forming, cursing all tall people from the bottom of his heart. It took Keith a while to understand the layout of the Lance’s kitchen, but now he’s got a fairly good understanding of where plates and cups go. “You’re such a mom.”

Lance laughs while washing the last knife. He hands it to Keith handle first and begins draining the sink. Lance sighs and leans his back against the counter. He closes his eyes. “We’re finally done!” He breathes out. “What time is it?” He peeks open one eye when he asks.

Keith huffs and checks his dying phone. It’s past midnight. “It’s technically tomorrow?” He sinks to the floor, looking up at Lance casually. “And we’re not done yet. We haven’t had dinner yet and I think you’ve had enough instant noodles for one lifetime.”

“I thought you couldn’t cook.”

Keith begins tying his hair back. “I can’t  _ bake.  _ It was poor word choice,” He corrects. “But I don’t think Hunk would want me in his kitchen anyway to be honest. I don’t understand flours and pastries and all that jazz.”  He opens the empty fridge and frowns up at Lance. The only contents of the fridge are some half eaten sandwiches and a few cans of beer. 

There isn’t a vegetable in sight. 

“Get your coat.” He orders while sliding his arms into his own jacket. “We’re getting groceries. Now. There’s a 24 hour variety store nearby right?” Keith grabs Lance’s coat, running his hand over the material before tossing it to him. 

Lance nods and catches his own jacket that Lance threw to him. Before he can object, Keith is already opening the door to the front of the building. Lance runs at a casual pace and locks the door behind him with a look over his shoulder. He turns the doorknob and slams his weight against it to ensure that--yes--it is locked. 

Keith waits patiently, not commenting about how the store is only across from the apartment building. 

The weather is frigid, the threat of snow in the air. According to the timeline, Lance has only eight--seven now that it’s midnight--days to live, that is if Keith hasn’t drastically changed the future. He’s noticed subtle changes, but nothing major aside from the person they ran into at the dumpster. It’s worrying, so Keith decides to be more cautious around Lance. 

There’s a soft cold mist in the air that only a Canadian city by the water can have at midnight. Keith exhales a puff of steam while he waits for the doors of the store to open. A lanky teenager is sitting behind the counter in the desolate shop. He is holding a sudoku book in his hand that he makes no attempt to hide. There is some sort of 80s rock music playing over the loudspeaker. Keith waves to the teen but goes unnoticed and awkwardly lowers his hand. 

Keith leads Lance through the store, picking up a shopping basket as he passes the stack. He looks at the prices and decides spaghetti is the best option for a light and easy midnight dinner. He grabs some cheap pre-made sauce, a pepper, an onion, and some noname brand noodles. 

Keith grabs a loaf  of bread for good measure and feels the crinkle of plastic hitting his hand. He looks back and sees Lance looking guilty while trying to avoid Keith’s perplexed gaze. In his hand is a bag of Malteasters in all of their chocolatey glory. Keith caves under Lance’s pouty expression, throwing the bag into the basket. 

“I cannot believe this.” Keith groans, unloading the ingredients and chocolates onto the counter. “I should’ve seen this coming. You  _ are  _ the type to like Malteasers.” He doesn’t mean it as an insult, but it comes across that way. 

Lance gasps inwardly and places a hand over his heart. Keith raises his eyebrows and decides to try ignoring Lance McDramaqueen. Of course, Lance with  _ not  _ be ignored. “Malteasers are great!” He exclaims, rolling onto the counter lightly--much to the displeasure of the cashier. “How could you insult me  _ and  _ my Malteasers?! I’m wounded, Keith!” 

Keith rolls his eyes with his whole head. “I’m buying them for you, Dork.” He gets a look from the exhausted teen who is asking with his eyes how Keith will be paying for the groceries, to which he responds by raising his debit card. “It’s not my fault that compressed sawdust covered in chocolate isn’t appealing. It’s just gross.” 

“ _ You’re gross _ .” 

The debit machine beeps, indicating that the purchase went through. Keith puts his card back into his wallet and scoffs loudly at Lance. “Oh wow,  _ real mature _ .” He grabs the plastic bag and his dramatic companion. 

Handing Lance the bag of chocolate candy calms him down for the most part. He’s still pouty, but at least he’s tolerable.

They get back to the second story apartment in record time. Keith doesn’t necessarily  _ need  _ Lance’s help in the kitchen, but the ever insistent boy manages to convince him. Not that it takes much convincing because Keith craves being close to Lance at almost all times. 

Naturally, Lance forces Keith to listen to his music even though he stands his ground that he wouldn’t be caught  _ dead  _ listening to Rihanna--even though he often found himself listening to Breaking Dishes when he was home alone. 

Lance grabs a cutting board for Keith while he ponders for a moment. “Your taste in music is way worse than mine.” He finds a green plastic board and inspects it once over. “Didn’t you like a song called ‘It’s Not A Fashion Statement, It’s a Deathwish’?” 

Keith scrunches his face up as if he’d bit into a lemon. He empties the container of spaghetti sauce into the saucepan to heat it up. “Fuck you Lance, that’s a good song.”

Lance cracks up. He places the onion down on the cutting board and scans it with a perplexed expression. “That sounds like an edgy Hot Topic teenager trying to explain to their mother why their shirt is covered in spikes.” Keith looks confused. “It’s not a fashion statement, it’s a fucking deathwish,  _ Mom _ .” 

Keith frowns. “I hope that kid gets grounded.” Lance exhales a laugh before he decides how to go about cutting the onion. Reeling his arm back, Lance chops down onto the vegetable with a startling thunk.  The onion splits at an awkward horizontal angle and Keith screams internally at how close the knife came to Lance’s fingers. “You can stir the sauce, I’ll cut the vegetables!” Keith blurts out. Lance slumps his shoulders but complies. 

Keith makes quick work of mincing the onion and moves onto cubing the green pepper. He shoots Lance sideways glances every once in awhile to be sure he’s stirring correctly. He always is, but Keith can’t help but be concerned. He looks down to make the final cut when he hears Lance sharply followed by the quick bubbling of the spaghetti sauce. 

Lance is cradling his hand, covered with tomato red liquid. Keith puts down his knife quickly onto the cutting board and carefully puts the sauce on a different burner. “Get the burn under cold water!” He orders when he notices Lance trying to rub the scalding mixture away. 

“Nah, this is nothing serious. It’ll stop when I get it off.” He explains but doesn’t look convinced. 

Keith delicately grabs Lance’s hand, careful not to touch the sore red skin. “The cold water will help.” He explains, guiding Lance’s hand under the frigid water. He hisses and tries to rip his hand back. “Sugar will stick to your skin, you have to get it off immediately or it will scar.” He speaks calmly. 

Lance gets unnaturally quiet, almost as if he’s trusting him more. Keith runs his pale fingers over Lance’s dark skinned hand, clearing off the last of the tomato sauce. His fingers are trembling lightly under Keith’s gentle touch. He thinks he’s hurting Lance so he tries to be even more delicate. This only increases the shivers that Lance is desperately trying to hide. Keith sneaks a glance up at Lance and finally notices the vivid blush on his cheeks. 

The cold of the water doesn’t bother Keith anymore. If anything, it’s calming when mixed with the heated blush creeping into his cheeks. He can’t draw his eyes away from Lance’s flustered facial features. Keith narrows his eyes and softens his expression while he watches the other boy react to the way his fingers touch the rapidly cooling skin. 

It’s sappy, sure, but Keith would gladly dip his hands into ice water if it meant he gets to hold Lance’s hand. 

“Keith?” Lance asks in a voice that comes out as a whisper. “How long do we have to keep the burn under the water?” 

The words rush Keith back to reality like literal ice water in his veins. He turns the running water off and delicately dries Lance’s hand off. “It should be fine now. Just watch TV for now, dinner will be ready in a few minutes.” 

Lance opens his mouth to protest but closes it after a moment. He sulks to the couch and begins flipping through Netflix. He settles on a conspiracy documentary that should only be watched at 1am. His knees meet his chest when he finds a comfortable position for watching. Lance chuckles whenever the theory gets too absurd at times. He rests his head on his denim covered legs and yawns lightly with heavy eyes trying to focus on the screen. 

Keith watches from the kitchen for a moment with curiosity. The timer he’d set loudly begins to beep with no intention of being ignored. He strains the pasta, getting a light blast of steam in the process. He takes a serving spoon and portions the pasta between the two plates. It’s not pretty looking, but he’s sure it will taste good. 

Keith strolls over to the blue fabric sofa with a plate in each hand. He hands Lance a plate and flops down next to him. “What are we watching?” Keith questions, taking a forkful of spaghetti into his mouth. His stomach growls contently from the treatment. 

“Uh...” Lance leans forward and clicks pause so the title appears. “Soaked in Bleach?” He scrolls to the description sleepily. “Something something Kurt Cobain?” He explains without a care in the world. 

Keith chuckles but doesn’t call Lance out on his poor description. 

Before he knows it, Lance’s finished his small dinner, nodding his head as he dozes off. Keith wipes his face with a paper napkin and grabs the beige blanket that was laid over the back of the couch. He drapes it over Lance’s shoulders as if he is breakable from the touch. “You should go get some rest.” Keith suggests, gently brushing his fingers through Lance’s hair. “I’m sorry for keeping you awake this late at night.” He speaks with a quiet and kind voice. “Lance?” 

Soft snores are coming from Lance now. His body is leaning lightly against Keith’s chest. Keith exhales and lovingly pets Lance’s chocolate brown hair. “Oh damn, now you’re making me tired.” He complains with a yawn. 

Keith looks at his phone and notices that the battery is at fifteen percent. He recalls that his charger is on the kitchen counter but with Lance sleeping so peacefully on his chest, it’s close to illegal to move right now.

And besides, it’s not like they can’t wake up without an alarm. 

Right?

**December 22nd : Late Morning**

Keith was wrong. He was so very wrong. 

He’s woken up by a panicked and disheveled Lance shaking him awake rather roughly. His clothes  are tossed around slightly, with the top of his underwear showing over his wrinkled jeans. Lance’s shirt is slipping down his shoulder and is raised on the left side of the hem, showing the curve of his hip. 

“Keith! Wake up!!” He’s laying awkwardly against Keith’s chest, meaning they must’ve slipped from their sitting position sometime during the night. Keith notices from the way that he’s holding Lance that--God  _ damn  _ he sure is cuddly. Keith is so incredibly turned on in that moment that he wishes he could just enjoy the way he is being woken up but Lance’s insistent yelling keeps cutting through the silence and bringing Keith back to his senses.”Allura called. We’re so fucking late, dude!” 

Keith sits up abruptly, taking Lance with him. He rubs his temples and feels a sleep-deprivation headache coming on. His shoulder is stiff from the awkward sleeping angle and Lance is sitting on his lap, scowling at him impatiently. 

Lance is sitting on his lap. Keith is fully awake now. 

It takes only a moment to process what Lance is saying. “Oh.” He mumbles blankly. “ _ Ohmygod!”  _ Lance jumps up, satisfied with his work. Keith gets changed quickly in the living room while he waits for Lance to get ready for work. He starts bouncing lightly, ready to start sprinting to Voltron the second Lance is dressed and ready to go. 

Lance jogs out of his bedroom. He’s already wearing his uniform, much to his own discontent. “Okay, let’s go before Allura kills us both.” He swings open the door and locks it behind himself. He quickly runs into the wood, causing Keith to wince in horror though he makes no attempt to argue. 

It is only once the two are sprinting side by side to Voltron as if they are competing in some sort of marathon that Keith questions to himself as to whether or not he will survive the next week living with Lance. Stalkers and the works are bad enough, but every time Lance gives him a sideways glance and a smug smirk, he’s sure that his heart is going to stop. Keith swears that young love will be the death of him, he just hopes that it’ll be quick and painless. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Fun Fact! Lance’s sofa was supposed to be white, but I don’t like mixing spaghetti sauce with anything white so I changed it to a more first apartment acceptable sofa. So, Blue fabric. Truly everyone’s first sofa.   
> I got the dude I like into Voltron but he keeps messing up Hunk's name and while--yes--it is cute, it is also slightly irritating.   
> Also I’m listening to the Heather’s The Musical OST and--if you haven’t heard it yet--you should be listening to it too. Not that it’s vital to the storyline or anything, I just think that the songs in this musical are great and everyone should appreciate them. I would love to write a JD inspired Keith or Lance in like a 3-4 chapter story, ya know? (It would probably be Keith tbh he seems more like the yandere type. At least he’s more yandere-like than Lance. Probably. Voltron writers let me know if I’m onto something here. Thx xoxo ur the best bbys. Christ. Why do any of you read this?)   
> See you guys on Christmas Eve ⭐


	5. I'm Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere on the other end of town, Pidge wakes up in a cold sweat. They stare at their flabbergasted expression in the floor length mirror across from the bed, wondering how the hell they just knew Keith was majorly pining. They slump back into their bed—feeling different and having made a promise to themselves to stop giving Keith relationship advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo so like remember when I wrote “See you guys on Christmas Eve” yeah that was meant to be a joke but somewhere along the line it became a reality. Hahahahi’m so sorry. BUT! I’ve kinda hit a bit of a rough time with work so I haven’t had the time to work and stay on top of my classes and write. 
> 
> PS. This chapter is the gayest thing I’ve ever written and I text my wife DAILY

“Oh shiit,” Pidge notices the dark circles under Keith’s eyes. They can’t contain their laughter even with their mouth closed and the way that they are hiding behind their hand. They take the paper cup from Keith’s hand, laughing louder when they notice his irritable expression under the awful barista visor Allura finds so amusing over Keith’s mullet. “When’s the last time you’ve actually slept?” Pidge asks with a hint of concern in their voice.

Keith rips the machine from the register and yawns loudly in Pidge’s face. “I don’t know,” He blows a stray hair away from his face and rolls his eyes. “Probably yesterday?” He answers, not too convinced in his own answer once it leaves his lips. It’s not exactly a lie, but Keith’s sleep is constantly being disrupted by how much of a fidgety sleeper Lance is.

Pidge takes a singular sip of their coffee, a content little sigh escaping from their lips. They breathe outward and leans against the counter while talking. “Okay, but why though?” They click their tongue disapprovingly just as Lance struts next to them, taking a chocolate glazed donut and winks in their general direction, earning a swift blush from Keith. 

Pidge stops drinking and scrunches up their nose, understanding almost instantly why Keith’s sleep pattern is suddenly so awful. “Really,” Pidge inquires with a disgusted tone. “Y’all are gonna flirt, right in front of my coffee?”

Keith throws up his arms in despair and leans against the counter. He’s at that awkward moment of any shift where his shift hurt a little bit but it’s not quite his break so he just leans against the counter whenever he gets a second of free time. “It’s not my fault! He keeps insisting on sleeping with me but he’s such a restless sleeper and it’s driving me crazy.”

Pidge can’t bring themselves to look him in the eye. “That’s great and all buddy, but could you please not bring up your sex life so early in the morning.” They say, with a hint of stern affection in their voice. 

Keith sinks lower onto the counter and tries to hide his embarrassment. Pidge notices the red tinge to his ears and grins smugly to themselves. “It’s not like that!” He insists, making himself sound childish as his face deepens in shade with each second. He isn’t even slightly lying. Nothing has happened between them and it’s driving Keith crazy!

Pidge is grinning widely at him. “Why don’t you take lover boy on a date?” They gesture with their cup at Lance who is leaning against the back counter and talking to Coran who is spouting on about some sort of theory about the universe and life as we know it. You know, casual early morning conversations that you have with your co-worker. Lance is listening eagerly to Coran’s every word. His face goes from content conversation to one of existential horror as he puts his head in his hands and quietly screams. Keith exhales a very quiet laugh and returns his focus to Pidge.

It is at this point that Hunk brings out a large arranged tray of sweets to place behind the glass for the morning half of the shift. He overhears their conversation not so subtly. Pidge and Hunk share a knowing look which annoys Keith to no regard. He isn’t certain how everyone at Voltron found out about his pining, though if he had to place money on it, he’d bet on Pidge or Coran. He’s not one hundred percent certain of course, but he did see Coran have to be held in the kitchen by Allura and Hunk for only a second before the doors closed off any way of seeing what was happening, leaving Keith and Lance looking very alarmed. There were cries of the “beauty of young love” followed by muffled high pitched screams. The two shared a confused look but decided it was probably a novella that Coran was watching when he was baking.

It was weird for any normal person, but for Coran it just barely fit into the top-10 strangest Coran encounters list.

So naturally, now everyone knew.

Hunk—not so subtly—looks over his shoulder. “Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve,” Hunk states, amazing absolutely no one. Voltron is decorated with Christmas lights in an almost annoying fashion. There’s a ‘small’, in Allura’s words, Christmas tree that has been decorated by the entire staff on a late Sunday shift. Keith raises an eyebrow in confusion at Hunk to question him as to why he was reminding him. “ _So_ ask him out!” Keith spills the coffee he was making in shock at Hunk’s sudden—rather loud outburst. He glares at his hands, praying one day he’ll be able to interact with coffee without wearing it. “I’m pretty sure he’s not going to have any plans. What’s the worst that could happen? You’re already a time traveller, just keep asking until you get it right.”

Keith drops the mug in shock, creating a large puddle of hot coffee at his feet. His face drains of all colour in horror. “Pidge!” He squeaks out, glaring intensely. He is furious. Is it not possible for them to keep a secret just once _without_ telling Hunk?! It wouldn’t be so bad _if_ Hunk could keep a secret, but he cracks so easily. “It’s not that simple,” he begins. “I don’t know how I did it before, and I don’t think I can do it again.”

Pidge shrugs, taking a long and thoughtful drink of their coffee. “You’ve got a whole day to plan this right?” They ask smugly. “I mean, how difficult could it be? Just plan a date. Aren’t you like fifty?”

“I’m not even thirty.” Keith groans, holding his head in his hands. He leans over the counter again, trying to fight off the growing headache. He lightly uses his forefinger and thumb to massage the bridge of his nose, which helps a bit. “Also easier said than done. Lance doesn’t exactly make it easy to focus on anything.”

Pidge raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t know!” He squawks, throwing his hands up into the air. “He just has this very _Lance_ personality that makes it impossible to do anything when he’s around.” Keith tries to justify, only growing more and more flustered. Hunk politely tries to hide his laughter with a cough.

“Oh man—“ Pidge begins.

Keith slams his hands down on the counter, startling the only three customers sitting in different parts of the store. “Drop it, Pigeon.”

Normally, a sane person would be at least slightly on edge after such a display. Pidge, however, is not a sane person though. They swish the coffee around in their cup with a smug but affectionate expression. “Oh come on, you’ve got this dude.”

**December 24 th: Morning**

It took Keith an entire day to realize that he so did _not_ have this. Whatever _this_ was supposed to be that is.

Keith had spent all day overthinking how to ask Lance out on a date and now it was the big day that he was supposed to sweep Lance off of his feet. And no—no matter how many times Pidge suggested it—“Ya like Jazz?” is absolutely not an acceptable way to ask a guy out on a date. This confused and offended Pidge, stating that ‘they needed to find other sources for dating advice aside from Bee Movie’.

The two started their morning the same way they did every morning, with Lance sleeping on Keith’s chest and the latter boy desperately trying not to wake him up. Surprisingly enough, Lance sleeps in until about noon on his days off. Keith can’t help but wonder that maybe if he hadn’t been there, Lance might’ve woken up earlier. This got Keith to smile to himself slightly because—even if it was only him thinking it—his presence was helping Lance get some much needed rest. His skin was clearer and he was looking overall healthier. He also seemed to be smiling more.

It’s obvious to Keith now when Lance starts to wake up. For the most part through the night, Lance is an impressively still sleeper. It’s almost as if he is afraid to move away from where Keith is, even though he has plenty of room on the pull-out couch—which Keith is still disgruntled that Lance didn’t immediately tell him that it was a bed as well as a couch. The only exception to Lance’s sleeping pattern is when he has a nightmare. Even if Keith had previously been in a very deep sleep, it’s impossible to stay asleep with Lance’s flailing fists colliding with his chest. Keith doesn’t have to guess what Lance is fighting in his sleep because—even though Lance insists—it’s most certainly _not_ mothman.

On a normal morning when he starts to wake up, he snuggles as close to Keith as possible. It’s probably because Keith is _naturally_ “so warm and huggable” as Lance describes him. Even though Keith is nowhere near being a cuddly person, this side of Lance is charming in the most attractive way possible.

Lance stretches his arms outward and looks up at Keith. He has a dazed and peaceful expression on his face that he’s already trying to blink away. “Good morning.” He mumbles, laying his head back down onto Keith’s shirt.

Keith clicks his phone on to check the time. “Actually,” He turns the phone around to display the large numbers on his screen. “You _just_ missed morning.”

Lance looks up lazily at the clock. “Morning is whenever I wake up.” He yawns and runs his hand through his hair tiredly. “Time is irrelevant while I’m sleeping.” He sits up and rolls off of the bed.

Keith too sits up, stretching his shoulder with his arm so the pain will significantly lessen. Neither of them bother putting away the bed anymore because it’s basically just a bed at this point. Keith watches Lance cross into the kitchen, open the fridge and grab the water pitcher from the middle shelf. Keith collects two plastic cups with printed designs on them. He slides them across the counter to Lance. “Do you have any plans today?” Lance asks suddenly causing Keith to freeze in place.

“Not really,” Keith shrugs, desperately trying to sound casual while he watches Lance pour the water. “Why?” He feels his voice threaten to crack so he discreetly clears his throat.

Lance shifts his gaze to look at Keith. His expression is like that of an embarrassed child. It’s awkward to ask Keith to make plans with him, but for some reason, the blush on Keith’s face makes Lance’s heart skip a beat.  He averts his gaze and throws the pitcher back into the fridge rather clumsily. “My family is coming to town next week,” He begins in a hurried voice. “And I usually have Christmas gifts, but it’s been too hectic lately to get any shopping done.” Lance rushes through the sentence like it’s all one word.

Keith raises an eyebrow. “So…you want to go shopping?” He questions before taking a sip of his ice water, internally cursing the quick screaming of his heart in throat.

Lance glares down at him with an exasperated look. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” He mumbles and suddenly Keith notices that his SpongeBob cup is very interesting. “I’d just prefer if you were with me.” He says in a voice that is almost inaudible.

 _VERY_ interesting! There’s plastic, and more…paint? Keith is lying to himself, there is nothing interesting about this cup it’s just that Lance looks so desperate and cute that he\s having a very difficult time not grabbing Lance and kissing him senseless. “N-No, I don’t mind. I’ve gotta get some gifts for my parents anyway.” He flicks his attention back to Lance and sees the skeptical look on his face.

Lance hums in thought for a moment but shrugs anyway. “Alright then, let’s get going.” He tosses his own magenta Dora the Explora cup into the sink and throws on his sweater while waiting expectantly for Keith to finish getting ready so they could go. When Keith shot him a look he raised an eyebrow in return. “What’s wrong, mullet? If you want to go back to bed, then just ask.” He winks.

Keith rolls his eyes and shifts his weight to his right leg. “As if,” he crosses his arms across his chest. “I just thought that maybe you would want to wear something less,” He sweeps his hand up and down in Lance’s general direction. “ _Lance_.”

It is then that Lance catches his reflection in the mirror magnet that he attached to the coat rack so that he could ensure he always looks ‘bomb as fuck.” Today wasn’t a great fashion day for Lance to say the least. His hair is frizzy and sticking up on one side, looking rather spiky yet dull. Somewhat akin to what hay looks like in bushels. He reached up to pat his hair down only to grimace at the texture. Internally Lance is screaming, but externally his eyes lock with Keith’s in the mirror. It is then that Lance realizes that Keith has seen him like this almost _every day_ this week. One of them is going to have to die. Lance _really_ hopes it is himself.

Lance’s shirt hangs off of his shoulder, looking lazy and tired. He spots the place where his collarbone juts out against his skin almost like his skeleton is trying to escape his body. In blocky white comic sans lettering against the navy blue cotton reads “I PUT THE SAD IN QUESADILLAS”. Lance’s internal screaming reaches a new octave.

This wasn’t the oddest thing that Lance sees in the mirror though. His eyes looked bright and full of life when—not even a week ago—they had been covered in a dull haze that he did his best to hide with eye drops. Lance associated this with his stress and lack of sleep. He’d been sleeping a lot lately. He notes that this wasn’t his usual “off day” where he slept through the day and only woke to watch CNN, eat some food, and then fall asleep again. The sudden change was odd.

Lance hums thoughtfully and tugs at his own clothes to hide his own embarrassment. “I quite like my clothes.” He points to the blinding yellow shorts. These were once Hunk’s before Lance stole them by accident during their high school years. It’s senior year if Lance remembers correctly. He borrowed them for gym class and was amazed to discover that the drawstring could fit both Lance _and_ Hunk despite the vast difference in size. It was unintentional theft but after almost two years, it would be a touch odd to return them now. “It’s a bit like gazing at the sun on a summer’s day. Hot and bright.”

“I would have to agree,” Keith closes his eyes thoughtfully and smirks. “Just like staring into the sun, it’s giving me a headache.” He throws a pair of clean trousers at the baffled boy. “Now go get dressed, sweet summer child.”

Lance says nothing in return. He is too busy being horrified at Keith’s comparison and at the growing blush on his own face to think of a witty response. “I’m going to get changed.” He spins on his heel and makes a beeline for the bathroom, yelling across the apartment. “You’d better be ready to go in a few minutes, Mullet!”

Keith smirks as Lance slams the bathroom door and hastily turns on the shower. Keith cannot contain his laughter when he hears loud consecutive crashing of every plastic hair-care bottle he owns followed by a drawn out string of curse words. If he had to be honest, he did hear his own name coming from the bathroom in an angry yell more than once. “Are you okay in there?” He asks with mock concern.

“EAT A DICK!”

It only makes him laugh harder.

**December 24 th: Late Afternoon   **

Something that neither of them had considered was the sheer number of people that would leave their shopping for Christmas until last minute. It’s not that either of them were any better in this case, but they still shamed the masses of people upon entering the mall in horror.

Keith keeps getting pushed along with the crowd and finds that he is losing Lance far too often. Thankfully, Lance’s lankiness makes him easy to spot among the sea of people. Not that this changes how stressful it is every time they become separated.

It was when Keith collides with an exceptionally large man and sends the smaller college student tumbling to the ground that Lance decided that it would be best if they hold hands. Keith doesn’t have to guess how odd they look holding hands together, he can tell by the confused expressions on nearly everyone’s faces. Lance is wearing a festive blue laser cat Christmas sweater and beautiful light blue jeans that hang on his hips in all the right places. Keith, however, looks like an edgy hot topic teenage runaway that is mad at life.

Together the two give off a feeling of a mother and son. Keith internally chanted a mantra to _think, dammit!_ So far this felt more like a reluctant family outing than a date—which, it _isn’t,_ as Keith is constantly reminding himself every few minutes. Though Keith’s brain knows this, his heart certainly doesn’t and it seems to be more interested in how soft Lance’s hand feels held in his.

A sweet smell wafts through the mall, instantly grabbing Keith’s attention. Food! That’s a date thing, right? Internally he curses himself for not dating since his high school years. He tries not to pull on Lance’s arm to get his attention, though Lance has another plan in mind and stops so abruptly that he almost creates a thirty person pile-up. “Lance!” Keith squawks, pushing the lanky twenty year old into a quiet corner so he doesn’t end up getting trampled. “You can’t just stop like that!”

Lance’s face lights up suddenly, catching Keith off guard. He clamps his hand down on Keith’s shoulder. “We need to go in there,” He points frantically at the video game store next to where they’re standing. His voice is excited and quick from his high energy. “Right _now_!” He doesn’t wait for Keith to object before he begins pulling him through the open entryway.

As with most Christmas Eve shopping, there is little to no room to move—let alone hold hands. The reason Lance was drawn to this one game store is the tower of stacked limited edition figurines that is currently being swarmed by people. The number of merchandise left is quickly being reduced to zero.

Lance just barely has the time to quickly explain to Keith what he needs. As it turns out, Lance’s nephew is really into video games and has recently developed an obsession with a very popular RPG game that was close to ten years in the making. Lance had thought it was hopeless to try and get any merch for the game this late into the season, but maybe luck was smiling on him today.

It isn’t until Keith hears the saddened sigh coming from Lance that he notices the figurines are all but gone. Lance is far too tall to maneuver through this crowd and Keith is…well he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t scared of the large crowd. He looks to Lance and sees that he’s trying not to look too heartbroken. For Lance, Keith was willing to be fearless.

Keith ducks his head down and finds tiny gaps in between people to sneak closer to the gift. He locks his knees so he can’t be pushed around too much. It’ll be fine, he reassures himself. _Lance is going to wait for me_ _and then we’ll purchase this figurine and get the hell out of here._ He chants in his head.

When he finally looks up, he sees there’s only one toy left which two soccer moms are subsequently fighting over. They’re arguing about who was there first but it looks like either of them is willing to start swinging at any given moment. The sound of crowds and angry screams overpower the repeating Michael Bublé Christmas carols, meaning Keith’s movements are essentially soundless. He grabs the last toy and sneaks back to where Lance had been. _Had_ being the key word here. “Lance?” He calls out, looking back and forth through the crowd of people frantically. “Lance!” He’s panicking now, desperately searching for Lance.

He didn’t think it was all that possible to lose someone so tall in such a small store, but with the large crowd of people, Keith is being overwhelmed to try and search while also not being trampled. Someone pushes by him, knocking him into a rack of design T-Shirts from various video games and anime. He collects himself and stands lightly on the shelf, praying that it doesn’t break under his weight.

The shelf creaks under his weight slightly. It bends a little bit but does no real damage. Keith does a quick scan of the store for the familiar boy that he walked in with.

Finally, Keith spots Lance pinned against the black and white paneled store wall. He can’t seem to spot Keith even though he is obviously searching. He hops down and ducks his head down once again, calmly jogging through the masses with a quick apologetic yell to announce his presence. The last thing he would want is to be trampled. This whole time travel thing is new to him and he’d rather _not_ risk death right now.

When he emerges from the stampede next to Lance it is heartwarming to see the relief flood his features. But that relief is nothing compared to the glowing smile that follows once he notices the small figurine box that Keith is holding protectively close to his chest. “It was the last one.” He mumbles, shyly pushing the box towards Lance in a way that makes the Cuban boy grin wider as he feels a burning in his face.

“Thanks,” He stammers and accepts the box lightly. “He’s going to be so happy.”

“He’d better.” His tone is harsh, but his lopsided grin says otherwise.

Lance almost drops the box.

**December 24 th: Late Evening **

It is close to eight pm when the two are finished shopping. For the most part the things Lance was hoping to buy were sold out with the exception of about three small bags worth of presents. For a normal sized family, this would seem like a fair amount of presents, but Lance has a relatively large family that he is very close with.

Due to the holiday, the mall closes at Eight rather than at its usual ten pm standard. This is the standard so that employees can spend time with their families. Small puffs of white steam are materializing from both Keith and Lance’s lips every time they exhale. There’s a chill in the air with a frozen threat of snow to the air. It’s pleasant and calming in a way that makes everything seem a little bit quieter. Winter has that kind of feeling to it. If Keith remembers correctly—which of course he does—the snow will start in two or three hours.

Keith rubs his hands together to fight the cold but due to his hunger and the chilling wind he begins to shiver. He peeks out of the corner of his eye and notices the way that Lance is gazing at him. His posture and expression have become significantly gentler, almost as if Keith was something that he could break apart just with a look. Keith stops mid-exhale and chokes loudly. His mind races about why Lance would be looking at him that way, he’s only _standing_ there after all.

Suddenly, he doesn’t feel so cold anymore.

Without being too obvious about how flustered he is, Keith covers his mouth and looks back at the empty mall parking lot. His heart is racing and he desperately wants to turn around and check if Lance is still staring at him, but his mind can’t seem to think of anything to say when he turns around.

Before he can come up with a conversation starter, his stomach lets out a pathetic and deafening growl. With all the business of shopping, he’d completely forgotten about his hunger. His face burns with embarrassment, so he moves quickly to hide his expression. Lance notices the red tinge to the tips of his ears. “Wow, Mullet,” he grins. “That was loud. ‘Didn’t know you had Mount Doom inside of you!”

Keith is internally screaming but when Lance’s stomach mimics the sound with its own equally deafening wail. He grows smug. “Well if that’s what you think Mount Doom is, then what would you call _that?_ ” He scoffs and pulls his coat closer around himself.

The weather is growing colder by the minute. The chill of snow is seeping into Keith’s bones at this point, but he doesn’t want to leave just yet. Hunger surely isn’t helpful when one is cold though. “Well I take pride in knowing that everything you can do, I can do it better.” Lance retorts, trying to act proud of the fact that his stomach growl was louder.

Keith lets out a small laugh, which is accompanied by its own small puff of air. It would be a ten minute walk to the bus station from the mall with the traffic the way it is at the moment. After that it would be another twenty minutes to get back home. Keith’s stomach growls insistently. Are buses even running this late on Christmas Eve? “Hey, uh, Keith?” He snaps back to reality and stares at Lance’s stupid sheepish expression.

Keith turns quickly away and walks ahead of Lance. “You’d better be buying me dinner for coming out shopping with you.” He says it in a harsh, yet joking tone so it comes as quite the surprise when Lance happily agrees to the terms. He falters a step but recovers so seamlessly that Lance doesn’t notice.

Every diner seems to be filled or is exclusively reservation tonight, so it takes the two thirty whole minutes of walking to get to a truck stop. Keith throws open the door and sees the line packed almost to the exterior. His heart sinks, leaving a lump in his throat. 

At this point, Keith has had it with trying to find a suitable place to eat and chooses to lurk around the gas station portion in search of a quick and easy meal. He’s not used to this truck stop so it takes him a minute to find the prepared meals at the cold section of the store. He spots some salads, sandwiches, and—pickled eggs?! He gags and inspects the sandwiches thoughtfully. “Hey Lance,” he picks up two of the safer looking triangle cases. “Are you more of an egg salad or ham and cheese guy?”

When there is no reply, Keith spins around in immediate search. Lance has an uncanny ability of wandering off today, which is concerning. It takes only a minute to spot the lanky tanned boy rocking back and forth in the lineup for the diner. He is grinning widely and trying to get a good look inside of the restaurant.

With a huff, Keith throws down the sandwiches—by laying them back where they once were rather quickly but gently. He stomps over to Lance, somewhat offended and somewhat confused. “We’ll be here for an hour trying to get food.”

“That’s fine.”

Keith runs a hand down his face. “No, it’ll be quicker to get food and bring it home.” When had Keith started calling Lance’s apartment home? No, no. His home was the run-down, four-hundred-a-month, one bedroom apartment with the ugly seafood lighting that always looked filthy due to the awful cold lighting from his ceiling fan. Home wasn’t the warmer more expensive apartment where he slept better and wasn’t so alone.

Lance stares back at him and breaks him out of his inner turmoil. There’s a mixture of sadness and anger subtly in his expression, causing Keith to flinch backwards slightly. He can’t figure out why Lance is so upset at him, but he finds his resolve faltering. He wants to stand his ground but…the warm smell of fresh dinner rolls wafting from the kitchen is far too appealing. “It will take an hour to get seated.” He huffs and repeats himself, joining Lance in line with his arms crossed angrily.

Lance’s expressions brightens instantly. It is in this moment that Keith realizes that Lance is very similar to a mirror; when he is sad or angry, Keith’s entire mood shifts to match. And when he smiles, it doesn’t matter how mad Keith once was, he can’t help but smile right back.

Keith shakes his head to try and stop grinning like an idiot. Lance pulls out his smartphone and opens up a card game app. Most times whenever there’s a slow day at Voltron, the crew would play a quick game while cleaning or preforming a simple task. Lance or Hunk almost always win every time they play.

“Pick your poison.” Lance smirks.

Lance grins back and loads into the lobby. “ _Extreme Uno._ ” He states, watching Lance hesitates for a second before setting the rules. Lance has never lost a game of extreme Uno, but then again he’d never played against Keith before.

The average round of Extreme Uno lasts about an hour. So by the time Keith finally reaches Uno, they’re second in line. “Go fish!” Lance yells angrily, a code word for game night that roughly translates to “Get fucked”. This was created when Lance got really heated on a completely dead night and was about to tell Coran to go fuck himself but a customer walked in at _Go_ so he had to ad-lib another word and it just kind of stuck.

Keith chuckles warmly and waits for Lance to draw or play. He currently has thirteen cards in his hand, so his hand is hovering over the screen quizzically while he chooses his next card. His face brightens and he throws down a +4 card. “Uno you don’t!” There’s a pause and the game doesn’t automatically draw for Keith. “Is the game glitched? Why aren’t you drawing?!”

Keith keeps his expression flat for a moment, trying not to throw Lance any hints. He clicks the screen, throwing another draw four on top of it, not only winning Keith the game, but _also_ forcing Lance to draw eight cards. Insult to injury in the best way.

“Agh!” Lance sinks to his knees in anguish, clutching his phone to his chest in horror. He looks ready to cry. A few annoyed patrons behind them shoot the pair glares, while others try not to chuckle at Lance’s pathetic grovelling.

They’re at the front of the line at this point, with maybe a 5-10 minute wait remaining before they’re seated. Keith is grateful that there isn’t much longer to wait, for multiple reasons; mainly that his feet hurt, his stomach is insistently growling, and he’s not sure if Lance’s ego can take another loss at Extreme Uno. He can’t help but wonder if waiting in line was truly the best course of action. A smug grin forms on his face when he remembers Lance’s dejected expression when he was hit with a perfect plus eight just as Keith won the game.

He does his best to hide his smirk behind his hand, with a cough for added effect.

A couple with linked arms leaves the restaurant, looking thoroughly satisfied with their meal. The two are practically glowing under the yellow decorative lights. Keith sighs. _Ah, to be young and in love._ He sneaks a glance at Lance whom is bathed in a warm orange light due to his close proximity to the decorated Christmas tree.

As if to notice the way Keith was gazing at him with a subtle sideways look, Lance locks eyes with him. There’s a slight softness to the way he stares at Keith with almost fondness in his eyes. Keith feels his face heating with embarrassment as Lance continues to stare. _Ah, to be young and…_ “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” _…Never mind the moment is gone._  

Keith is still calming himself when he realizes someone other than Lance is speaking to him. “What?” He manages.

The obviously tired waitress asks again. “Will you be dining in tonight?” Keith can tell she’s exhausted, yet her obviously fake voice and smile never falter. Her curly brown hair is up in a bun that is slipping down due to the weight of her hair. She is methodically checking her watch so that she can leave as quickly as possible.

“She needs an answer, Mullet.”

Keith is so busy tiredly observing the waitress that he almost doesn’t respond. “Oh, yeah, right! Table for two please.” The waitress patiently nods and enters it into her white board table chart. She leads them halfway into the restaurant to a small booth before handing them both their menus. She proceeds to pull a small but shockingly loud cowbell from his apron and ring it loudly.

“Congratulations to our 200th customer for today!” The waitress announces to the entire diner in a mock-cheery tone that you would only pick up on if you worked in retail. “As our Christmas present to you, your meal will be 85% off!” The waitress applauds as a part of her scripted performance. This earns a confused—yet celebratory—applause from the other patrons.

When the very short celebration comes to an end, the waitress informs the two that she’ll be back in a moment to take their order. There’s a quiet but pleasant atmosphere with the waitress gone, but Keith can’t shake the feeling something is off. He looks up from his menu and spots Lance eyeing him over the edge of his own menu. “What?” Keith questions, breaking the suddenly-tense silence.

“Nothing.” There’s a pause. “She’s pretty.” Lance answers after what feels like an eternity, looking back at his menu in forced thought.

“I guess?” Keith cocks an eyebrow and lowers his menu—a laminated double sided piece of red-brown paper—slowly. “I don’t see how the waitress’ physical features is the topic of tense diner conversation though.” He fiddles with his silverware, wrapped in a white disposable napkin. “Normally you’d be tripping over yourself to flirt with her after all. Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” 

Lance scoffs, inspecting the drink menu on the back. “I think _you_ were flirting enough for the both of us.”

For a brief moment, Keith is taken aback. “Are you _jealous_?” He asks in a mocking tone. He expects Lance to mock him back, but when he straightens awkwardly Keith begins to feel flustered. “Hey if she caught your eye that much then talk to her. Give her the ol’,” Keith adds an exaggerated accent. “The name’s Lance…Lance McClain.” He gives a sloppy half grin and makes a ding sound when he winks.

Lance rolls his eyes. “I don’t sound like that.” He lowers the menu fully. “Besides, it’s;” He leans forward and lightly touches Keith’s chin so he is looking up at him. “Hey, the name’s Lance. Lance McClain.” His voice is low and after he speaks there’s a pause where all Keith can hear is the sound of his own heart thundering in his chest. He sees the dim lighting reflected in Lance’s dark eyes and when he finally winks, Keith isn’t sure where the ding sound comes from, but he knows Lance didn’t audibly make it.

When Lance finally pulls back, Keith’s heart returns to normal. He releases a shaky but quiet breath that he didn’t realize he was holding in. “Oh.” Is all he can manage without trembling when he speaks.

Somewhere on the other end of town, Pidge wakes up in a cold sweat. They stare at their flabbergasted expression in the floor length mirror across from the bed. They wonder how the hell they just _knew_ Keith was majorly pining. They slump back into their bed—feeling _different_ and having made a promise to themselves to stop giving Keith relationship advice.

Back in the diner, Lance is still laughing at Keith’s dazed expression. _I_ didn’t _swoon!_ He argues internally, red faced when the waitress returns with a plastic “glass” pitcher of water and two more plastic glasses. “Okay Lads, what’ll it be?” She pulls out a notepad and the two look at the menus again for just a moment.

Lance speaks up first. “I’ll have the club sandwich, please.” He answers, handing her both of their menus. Keith’s go-to order is a bit odd. It’s usually either pizza or a simple hamburger, so he chooses the latter this time around. It’s not that he doesn’t _like_ other food, it’s just that he’s very picky about what he does/doesn’t like but he doesn’t want to seem picky when out in public.

A sandwich would be too risky. Sometimes—most times—there’ll be tomato and/or on the sandwich. It’s not that either of these foods are necessarily _bad_ it’s just that they aren’t enjoyable in this context. Tomato makes bread taste weird on most kinds of sandwich and mayo is too…mayo-y? He orders the burger because he’d rather just seem normal than to try and explain his food science to Lance.

The two sit, just sipping on their ice water from colourful bendy straws while they wait. Lance slides Keith a headphone while they wait. Keith doesn’t understand the lyrics to some of Lance’s music. He can appreciate the occasional K-Pop. Even though his brain doesn’t understand it, his heart surely does and that’s all that matters.

For the most part, the music is what Keith had expected from Lance. Lots of Gwen Stefani and Kelly Clarkson with occasional Ke$ha. Keith is nibbling at the edge of his straw when Dancing Queen begins playing. He flashes Lance a toothy grin. “Nice tunes, memelord.”

Lance swallows a lump forming in his throat from the nervousness and embarrassment. “Thanks.” He manages meekly.

After what feels like an eternity, their food is finally at the table. They both thank their waitress and dig into their food. Two bites in, Lance scrunches up his nose and peeks under the top slice of bread. He peels off some soggy tomatoes and arranges them on the paper napkin. Keith smiles to himself and bites into his burger, pleasantly surprised at its plainness. He grabs a small bottle of hot sauce from the rack on the table, painting a swirl on the patty before continuing to contently munch on the burger.

Lance steals one of Keith’s fries and gnaws onto it happily despite Keith’s defensive swatting. Lance leaves the fry hanging between his lips, slowly bouncing the remaining fry as he chews.

“Shithead.”

Lance shrugs. “Don’t hate me because your fries like me better.” He poorly explains.

“It’s not like they had much of a choice in the matter.” Keith tosses an almost sharp fry in Lance who simply watches as it collides with the floor.”

“What a waste.” He pouts. Keith slides his plate around so that the fries are as far from Lance’s thieving hands as possible. He’s not truly mad, just trying to keep his food to himself. Lance ordered his crumby dry sandwich, not Keith’s plain hamburger and fresh cut fries. He peeks up and watches Lance sadly bite into his sandwich and swallow the bread as if it were a large rock. Though from his expression, a rock would be preferred at this point.

Keith slides his plate around once more and watches Lance light up. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, but he plays it off. “I’m not all that hungry,” he lies. “You can have however much you want.” He finishes his burger and sips at his water.

Lance happily digs into the fries while Keith watches on with his head resting against his palm. It takes him about ten minutes to finish Keith’s fries even with the intensity he was eating at. Most other couples are filing out of the door slowly one or two at a time. The other patrons in line behind Keith and Lance were seated shortly after the two, so the restaurant is just about getting ready to close for the night. Keith checks his phone and notices how close it is to midnight.

It’s just shy of an hour and a half until it is officially Christmas when Lance finally finishes off the last fry. Their impatient waitress swoops in with the bill, not bothering to ask if the two wanted dessert—Keith kind of did—but he figured he would give the poor girl a break after such a long Christmas Eve shift. The total comes to close to five dollars, something that is mind blowing to Keith.

Feeling bad for taking up so much of the staff’s time on Christmas, Keith place’s a twenty dollar bill on the table. It’s a somewhat large tip and the way that the waitress’s face lights up makes Keith a little bit happy.

Swiftly, the woman grabs her notepad and scribbles something onto it. She slides it face down to him and saunters away to the kitchen. Lance cocks an eyebrow in his direction to which he returns with a shrug. He unfolds the paper to reveal a string of numbers and the waitress’s name which is scribbled with rushed but delicate handwriting.

Lucie—the waitress—watches shyly in the most conspicuous way from the kitchen window. Keith pretends not to notice, choosing to instead grab his belongings and stand to leave. It would be embarrassing for both of them if Keith lets on that he saw her. He stuffs the note in his pocket and helps Lance with his bags as well.

“So,” Lance begins, earning a groan from Keith before he could even fully form the word. “What was _that_?” For a second, Keith is smug that Lance could be jealous but he’s brought back to reality almost instantly when he realizes that he’s probably just curious.

Keith keeps him waiting until they’re both outside to pull the note from his pocket. The cold night air is once again biting at his cheeks and making him shiver. He holds the paper between his index and middle finger. “It’s her number, do you want it? It didn’t seem nice to throw it away inside of the diner where she might see it, but I’m just not interested.”

“Nah,” Lance shakes his head and blows into his hands. He rubs his palms over his knuckles. “I think she’d be hurt if we ended up on a date and it was me that showed up instead of you.”

“Fair point,” Keith shrugs and tosses the paper into a park waste basket across the road from the gas station. “Figured it couldn’t hurt to ask though.”

The two walk in a comfortable silence for a short while of time before the snow begins. It’s slow and barely noticeable at first, but when one hits Keith on the nose he stops on the trail in awe. He didn’t see this last time around, but now he’s truly appreciating the beauty of it.

It takes Lance a second to notice the snow, but when he does he comes to a full halt as well. “The snow started really late this year,” he states, rummaging around in one of his bags for a moment. “I was kind of starting to miss it. Here, I know it’s a bit early but…” He pulls out a small grey blue scarf and hands it to Keith. “Merry Christmas, Keith.”

The material is soft in Keith’s hands and it’s kind of stretchy almost. The quality is rather nice but what shocks him the most is that he didn’t notice Lance buy it. “When did you—“

“When you were looking at the sandwiches,” he shrugs and cuts him off. “I saw the forecast by the cash register and since it was a truck stop they have all kinds of stuff like that around. I figured it’s better than nothing.” Keith opens and closes his mouth in an embarrassed shock. Of course he wouldn’t notice one more bag added to the collection.

He narrows his eyes at Lance. “That’s sneaky.” He mumbles, wrapping the scarf around his neck. It’s warm…stupidly warm. It smells like the restaurant and gas station, but also has a slight hint of Lance’s cologne. “Thank you, Lance.” He mumbles, blushing furiously.

Lance flashes a blinding smile and turns back to the trail before continuing forward. Keith’s heart is slow and heavy in a way that’s almost painful. It feels too tight in his chest, like his heart will suddenly just stop with how happy he is. _This_ was how things should’ve been. He’s happy. For the first time in almost ten years, he’s happy again.

They arrive at the other end of the park in record speed. It should be another ten minutes but his mood makes him feel like it’ll only be another five.

Towards the front of the apartment building, Lance’s foot catches on a particularly slippery patch of ice hidden under the light layer of snow. He struggles for a moment—arms flailing wildly at his sides—before he slips all the way back to his heel and he’s falling backwards. _Hard._

As if in slow motion, Keith reaches out and grabs him by the forearms and pulls him back onto proper footing before sliding him lightly towards safety. “Thanks.” Lance murmurs out softly in a daze.

“Any time.” Keith exhales. _Damn that was smooth!_ He encourages himself mentally. “…Not like you can fall anytime I’m around though,” He starts again. “I won’t always be able to catch you. My upper body strength isn’t _that_ great after all. But you get what I’m saying.” _Never mind, not so smooth after all._

Lance lets out an airy laugh which is a relief. “Of course.” He goes about unlocking the door and steps aside once it swings open. “Ladies first.” Keith groans and pushes Lance inside before shutting the door behind them.

“I didn’t get you anything.” He admits while Lance saunters over to the radio. “But I will bake you something.” He shyly compromises.

There’s a pause while Lance is fiddling with his music. He can’t seem to pick a song but he eventually settles on Loco by Shakira. “I thought you didn’t know how to bake?” He grabs some beers from the fridge and tosses one to Keith who catches it with both hands. Lance leans against the counter and hums thoughtfully while sipping his drink.

“I do know how,” He opens the fridge to make sure he has all the ingredients to make sugar cookies. “I’m just…not the _greatest_ at it.” Everything’s there. This should go fine.

Lance chuckles into his drink, rolling the can back and forth in his hands. “Poisoning me on Christmas isn’t exactly a gift, Mullet.” He says it lightly but Keith still feels slightly offended.

He pushes on Lance’s back. “Get out of my kitchen and let me do what I need to and _maybe_ you’ll live through these cookies.” He sways away and shakes his beer can in Keith’s general direction.

Keith goes about preheating the oven. He downs his drink and grabs another one, noting how glad he’s ten years younger again. He mixes the flour and the sugar with the baking soda and powder. All the dry ingredients are thoroughly mixed together before adding the butter, egg, and vanilla. He stirs it together, finding more resistance than he thought. By the time it’s starting to feel easier, he’s getting exhausted. It is then that Keith rereads the instructions and sees that he should’ve added the flour periodically. It shouldn’t matter what order they’re mixed in, right? They’re still going into the same bowl why does it matter how it’s mixed?? Keith looks into the doughy mixture and shrugs. He reaches the bottom of his second drink.

He rolls each individual cookie and places them onto the baking pan. The oven preheats with a loud beep and Keith slides the tray into the oven, feeling rather proud of his work. He leans on the counter while he waits and sips his drink.

It is at this time that Lance emerges from his room. His hair is dripping little puddles onto the floor, so Keith can tell he had just finished taking a shower. He is wearing a grey shirt with pale blue flannel dolphin printed pants. It’s adorable to Keith. He flicks a handful of flour onto Lance, showering over him like a baptism of stupid. “Wow, that’s fashionable.” He jokes, trying to shake off the racing heartbeat. Lance strikes a pose and grabs another beer from the fridge. He tosses one to Keith.

There’s a slight blush to his cheeks from already downing one beer. Keith has no real way of knowing how well Lance can handle his booze since the two have never drank together, but if he had to guess he’d say his alcohol tolerance _isn’t_ great.

Lance takes a long swig of his drink and moves his body slightly to the music playing at the moment. It’s a Whitney Houston song called “Dance with Somebody” or something. Keith has heard of it before but he never really listened to it, nor did he expect Lance to listen to it. It’s honestly not a bad song but he couldn’t imagine that it’s actually fun to dance to. He peeks a look over at Lance, he’s moving to the music but not exactly well.

Keith chuckles. “Do you?” He asks Lance who simply hums in return. “Do you want to dance with somebody?” He asks it as a joke but when Lance looks at him expectantly in return, he freezes. “W-wait, seriously?”

A grin forms on Lance’s lips while he watches Keith patiently. He mouths the words and shakes his shoulder while motioning for Keith to come closer. To Lance, he thinks he looks seductive, but to Keith he looks like every white girl in a teen romance from the early 2000s. Keith finishes his third beer in one nervous gulp.

Keith tries not to budge but reluctantly finds himself standing in front of Lance with a slight blush to his cheeks. It is in that moment that Keith vows to never drink again, as it makes him do silly things such as—but not limited to—considering dancing with the love of his life in his dolphin pyjamas at close to one in the morning.

While mustering up the courage to try and dance with Lance, the song ends. There’s an awkward pause before the next song starts with a soft strumming and rhythm. Lance identifies what song it is and how noticeably slow it is even layered under three shots worth of over confidence and bad decisions. “Maybe not this one…” He reaches over the counter to try and intercept the clunky old radio before the mood can get even more awkward.

Keith catches his hand in a moment and latches on tight, yet delicately. He feels a shiver up his spine when Lance looks up at him in drunk bewilderment. “This one’s fine.” Keith reassures him, lightly tugging him closer.

There’s a moment where Lance holds his other near the machine for just a second and Keith is afraid that Lance might reject him. “What, are you scared?” He asks with his heart in his throat. His voice is low and he tries not to shake.

Then—much to his surprise—Lance retracts his arm and places it on Keith’s shoulder. “As if I’d be scared, Mullet.” For a second he does nothing, but then he reaches to place his hand on Lance’s hip. He’s shocked at how toned Lance feels. He expected him to be boney and odd to hold like this—not that that would stop him for even half a second.

Lance gasps lightly but stays composed and totally passive even though he’s certain his heart is going to burst. Lance is looking anywhere but at Keith; while Keith is staring only at Lance. He’s memorizing every part of Lance’s face, watching how his eyes dart around in embarrassment and how his dark face blushes scarlet.

 _Well you done done me and you bet I felt it/I tried to be chill but you're so hot I melted/I fell right through the cracks/And now I'm trying to get back._ Keith is a clumsy dancer, he’ll be the first to admit that. Maybe it’s the alcohol talking, but he thinks he’s getting better as the song goes on. “Jason Mraz isn’t even that good.” Keith jokingly admits.

 _But I won't hesitate no more, no more/It cannot wait, I'm yours/Well open up your mind and see like me/Open up your plans and damn you're free/Look into your heart and you'll find love love love love._ Talking—much to Keith’s satisfaction—gets Lance’s attention enough to make him meet Keith’s eyes. “Then why are we dancing to this?” Lance tightens his grip slightly on Keith’s shoulder.

He shrugs under Lance’s tightened grip. “Maybe I just felt like dancing.”

Lance’s voice is quiet when he speaks next. There is a shyness to his tone and he’s avoiding Keith’s eyes. “With _me_? Like _this_?”

Keith’s heart rushes when he notices the embarrassment coming from Lance. He smiles slyly and shrugs smoothly. “Maybe. Who’s to say?”

 _So I won't hesitate no more, no more/It cannot wait I'm sure/There's no need to complicate/our time is short/this is our fate, I'm yours._ Lance opens his mouth to speak, but Keith spins him closer towards the living room. Maybe spinning a drunk man isn’t the brightest idea, but Keith is oddly satisfied by the bewildered expression on Lance’s dusted face. 

With a quiet chuckle, Keith raises his left hand from Lance’s hip and shakily brushes the flour away from under his eye with his thumb. He’s watching Lance melt under his light touch in amazement. His heart thunders in his chest but he looks up at Lance with softened eyes. He moves his hand to behind Lance’s neck and…he’s gorgeous.

Lance is watching him patiently, observing his every move with a delicate expression. Normally he would make an excuse for why they were like this, but right now he was drawing a blank. After all, how could he make an excuse for the way that the slight tug of his soft hair in Keith’s fingers feels surprisingly pleasant or the way that his breath hitches in his throat when Keith pulls him closer and crushes his lips against his own?

Lance makes a small moan in his throat and Keith smiles at how perfect this moment feels. So clumsily perfect. In the back of his mind; he’s panicking—but in the front of his mind he’s telling that small voice to _shut up_ and let him enjoy the fleeting moment.

So panicking-brain-Keith does just that.

Keith balls up the material of Lance’s shirt and backs him towards the sofa. His knees are wobbly with the threat that they could give out at any minute from a mixture of nerves and excitement.

The back of Lance’s legs hits the material of the sofa and he slides down into a sitting position, taking Keith with him. Keith places his knee down onto the sofa so that he hovers over Lance’s lap. He stays standing slightly though most of his weight is on his knee. His breath is hot and ragged, desperate to be even closer to Lance.

Even though the moment is progressing quickly, something is still holding Keith back. His body is yearning to stay with Lance, but his mind is desperately trying to tell him to slow down and that this isn’t how this _should_ happen. He doesn’t want kissing Lance to mean nothing more than an alcohol influenced decision that can be played off as a mistake.

The way that Keith feels couldn’t _possibly_ be a mistake, so he pulls back. His heart couldn’t handle that kind of rejection from Lance. Not after all this time.

Lance blinks into confused awareness with an expression that only people under the influence of alcohol could have. “What’s wrong?” He quietly whispers out. “Did I do something wrong?” He sounds disoriented and weak. Keith never expected Lance to be this much of a light-weight, which makes him feel even worse.

Keith puts his weight onto his leg and stands up for the most part. “I just don’t want to force you into doing anything you don’t want to do.” He says lightly, not wanting to hurt Lance’s feelings.

“Force me?” There’s a crack in his voice that is dripping with hurt and panicked disappointment. “You’re not.” His voice breaks into a whisper.

Keith feels a slight pain in his chest. “Lance, I didn’t mean it like th—“

Lance pushes him aside and stumbles into a run all the way to his room, slamming the door behind him. Keith follows close behind him, pressing against the door at the exact moment there’s a click of the door locking from the other side.

It takes a second for Keith to fully process what the sound meant. He feels frustrated and exhausted, but mostly he just wants to be there for Lance. “Open the door.” He instructs gently.

“No.”

“Lance, I—“

“NO.”

Keith kicks the door, instantly regretting this decision as he jumps around all while quietly swearing under his breath. “Fine!” He huffs out, turning quickly and stomping away. He grabs his jacket and scarf from the coat hanger by the front door. He pauses while putting on his scarf but chooses warmth over pettiness. He throws open the door and steps outside into the now-raging snowstorm, slamming the door behind him as he leaves.

In his last time through this Christmas, there was no snowstorm. He doesn’t really pay this any attention though due to his drunken, angry state of mind. He waits at the edge of the road, watching for cars before he crosses into the 24hour convenience store.

The cashier from before is sitting there at the counter once again. He mumbles out a half-assed greeting while he scribbles in the answers of the newspaper’s crossword. Keith ignores the cashier and walks to the back of the store where they keep their variety of cheap box-wines and 24packs of beer.

Keith grabs a 12 case of Heineken and walks through the aisles to the cash register. He’s made up his mind that he’s going to get as drunk as his twenty year-old body can handle so that he doesn’t have to wallow in self-pity any longer. It is when he comes to this conclusion that he throws down the case lightly on the counter and pulls out his wallet from his jacket to pay the cashier.

Out of the corner of his eye, Keith spots a red plastic bag. He sighs for a moment before placing it on the counter as well. He still believes that the Lance’s taste in candy is disgusting, but any gesture that could help right about now is welcome. He buys the beer and Maltesers.

When Keith gets back to the apartment, the door to Lance’s room is still locked and he’s not replying. “Asshole.” Keith quietly mumbles and places the Maltesers onto the floor in the path of where the door would open. He waits for Lance to reply but there isn’t one, so he turns around and walks to the living room with a defeated sigh.

The bed still isn’t made, making Keith’s living space look like just as much of a mess as the rest of his life. He crawls on top of the blanket and stares at the wall, cracking open a beer to drink during his pity party. He doesn’t quite get why Lance is mad at him, but right now he just wants to forget and sleep.

The gifted scarf is still around his neck, making him wallow more in self-pity. He wraps the cloth around himself and slowly drifts off to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mayo is weird yo. Fight me. Ironically enough, good in tuna/egg salad sandwiches though. BECAUSE IT’S MIXED THROUGH RATHER THAN JUST CHILLING ON YOUR SANDWICH MEAT SLICES MAKING YOUR BREAD ALL SOGGY AND GROSS FITE MEEE
> 
> Also my brother’s description of this chapter “Oh man, that’s throw up in yo mouth levels of gay.” This is it. My legacy. 
> 
> Also also also!! Next chapter gon be sad. Might be last chapter, might not. Who's to say?


	6. How to Save a Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are somethings that cannot be changed, but that doesn't stop us from trying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank every single one of you for following the progression of this story, without all of you, I would never have been able to make it this far. So from the bottom of my heart, thank you! I hope you continue to support me and follow my writing into the future. Enjoy the conclusion into to Keith and Lance’s story in this timeline and once again, THANK YOU!!
> 
> Also I worked so hard to make this on a Christmas deadline but I missed it by an hour. I did my best, lads. I really did. 
> 
> TL;DR I'm a sentimental and cryptic ass.

Keith wakes up to a cold chest and a quiet apartment. He shivers and reaches for the blanket that he tossed off of himself in his sleep. He squints at the blanket, offended at his past self for causing the chill he now feels in his bones. He slept like the dead, which is odd considering the fact that he woke up without the aid of an alarm. 

Through squinted eyes, he pats around the coffee table to find his phone. He looks at it with a sleepy and offended expression on his face. He presses the power button on the top of his phone. There’s no response. He clicks again—more insistent this time—still no response. It is then that Keith realizes he somehow forgot to charge his phone during the argument with Lance.

With slightly cracked hands, Keith rubs his face and wobbles to his feet slowly. His body feels significantly better than it has after any from the last ten years. Or next ten years, he supposes. Time is a fickle thing, you see. He stumbles around the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes and stifles a big yawn. He can’t help but feel like he’s forgetting something, but he can’t be quite be certain.

Lance’s favourite coffee blend is kept on the top shelf in the cupboard because it is _just_ slightly out of Keith’s reach and it never fails to amuse the former whenever Keith has to stand on his tiptoes to pull the can down. He does just this while he waits for the kettle to finish heating. He decides that he’ll wake up Lance with a fresh pot of coffee to fix their situation and be back on speaking terms.

There’s a quiet whistle coming from the kettle, so he decides to prepare some oatmeal while he finishes waiting. He places the bowl next to the kettle and spies the microwave time glaring at him with bright blue numbers. They’re two hours late for their shift. Oh god, Allura had probably been calling him all morning. She is going to be _furious._

Keith takes a running start across the apartment, jumping over the jeans he left on the floor and skids to a stop in front of Lance’s bedroom. He knocks insistently on the wooden frame and jiggles the handle only to find that it is no longer locked. He opens the door, revealing the dark interior of Lance’s room. He is nowhere to be found in the bedding and garbage.

Keith’s heart sinks. _He left without me._ He remembers the date. _He left without me._ He repeats in his head, sprinting back across the apartment and he’s barely into his jeans from last night by the time he’s throwing open the front door. He doesn’t bother to lock the door or turn off the kettle because he knows the only person that would break in won’t be around today.

Passing buildings and businesses and parks in a panicked sprint, Keith moves at such a speed that shouldn’t even be possible for his legs to manage, yet he still doesn’t slow down. The entire way to his destination, he doesn’t stop running. His heart is thundering in his chest as he turns the final corner before Voltron. His breath is ragged, leaving small puffs of air in his path. It is then that Keith realizes how cold it is outside. He looks at his bare arms and the way that his skin prickles in fear rather than cold.

Keith is slow at first when he sees the blue and red flashing lights outside of the café. His heart sinks in his chest. He already knows what has happened, but he’s not ready to accept it as reality. Not again.

The cold chill in the air is all that remains of his memories of the night all those years ago. The universe seems to be mad at him once again. He feels paranoid, almost as if the snow is watching him from the ground, quiet and judgemental. He let himself be petty again, and of course this was the result.

By the time Keith realizes he’s sprinting, he’s a few meters away from Allura. Her face is puffy and red from the tears streaming down her face. The eye makeup that Shiro almost surely did for her is now leaking down her cheeks. She always hated when her eyeliner wasn’t waterproof, but that is the least of her problems right now.

There’s a dusty grey blanket that is rough and warm wrapped around her shoulders. Shiro is sitting to her left, trying to be strong for her. Keith notices the reddened look of his eyes though.

When Allura notices Keith, her facial expression shifts from despair to fury. She is on her feet suddenly, a light crunch of her heels on the wet snow. “You were supposed to be with him!” She lashes out, a look of distilled anguish flickering behind her eyes. Keith knows that she doesn’t genuinely hate him and that the despair of the moment is beating her down, making her say things that she doesn’t mean. She’ll apologize later and Keith will accept her apology but the tension will always stay.

Allura punches Keith in the chest, making him stumble backwards. He keeps his footing but almost falls. The sudden act of violence earns a look from the police officers on the scene. Keith waves his hand up to show that everything is fine and that the cops can continue with the bigger situation on their hands.

“You were supposed to keep him safe!” She punches him a few more times, the force going from inhumanely strong to meek and pathetic. She is bawling again, her nose running and her eyes are glassy from the tears.

Keith doesn’t know what to say to that. There isn’t anything to say. “I know.” He whispers as Allura connects one final punch. Her hand balls up the black fabric and she leans her forehead against his shirt. She shakes in violent tremors.

Keith extends his hand to comfort her, pausing when he sees Shiro giving him a pitying look. Shiro didn’t need to be told about Keith’s unrequited love for Lance. He could always just kind of tell whenever he would show up to pick Allura up after work and see the way they interacted at the café. He observed the way that Keith would stare at Lance absently.

The two look away from each other. Keith slams his eyes shut and tries to fight the sadness and frustration he feels. With his eyes still closed, he reaches out to support Allura. He touches her shoulder gently to pull her in for a hug.

When had Allura become so cold? The blanket should’ve been keeping her warm in this weather. Keith furrows his brows and slowly opens his eyes and sees the wooden door to Lance’s apartment. The sun has disappeared and the moon has taken its place.

There’s a red Malteasers bag in his right hand. It crinkles loudly from the stiff plastic when he closes his fist tighter, assuring him this is real. Shakily, he reaches into his pocket and pulls his cell phone out. The battery is at 72% and the date—December 25th, 2017—is written clear as day in white blocky letters. Keith sinks to the ground and exhales a shaky breath.

There is still time.

 Keith exhales another shaky breath and pushes open the door. The smell of not-yet burned sugar cookies greets him instantly, causing his knees to give out as he crumples onto the snow dusted balcony-style deck.

For some reason, he’s been given another chance to make things right this time around. It’s Christmas again, though judging from the Malteasers and beers in his hand, he still managed to hurt Lance earlier in the night.

The cookies are still in the oven, with no timer set to indicate when they’ll be finished. With shaky legs, he stands and hurries across the apartment. The pair of oven mitts that had been resting on the counter is what Keith locks his attention on. He is still in a daze from the time jump but it doesn’t make sense to him to let the cookies burn in this timeline too. If smoking out Lance in his previous timeline had worked, then maybe he would repeat the action. He pulls out the tray only to find that the cookies—so flat they might as well be snaps—are a light golden colour and have a soft consistency to them. He lets them cool for a few minutes, opting to pace back and forth while argue-apologizing to the non-present Lance.

It takes a few minutes but they’re finally able to be touched without crumbling into a thousand pieces. Hesitantly, Keith takes a bite. He scrunches his eyes shut in anticipation of the worst but surprisingly they’re actually sweet and soft. “They’re…good?” He asks out loud with a skeptical face.

They’re actually pretty good. Better than pretty good even. He lightly chuckles and frowns when he turns around to hand Lance a cookie only to find that he is nowhere to be found. With a huff, Keith throws the cookie down onto the counter and holds his head in his hands.

Maybe it’s out of stubbornness, but suddenly he’s searching hurriedly for paper plates. Lance is a college student, of course he has paper plates. Keith eventually finds them in the second shelf in the pantry. He chooses the package of thirty with poinsettias printed haphazardly across the paper to look Christmassy and gets to work.

If he’s being honest with himself, he has no clue as to whether or not his plan will work, but his frustration and drunkenness are fueling him at this point. So he sits in front of Lance’s bedroom door with a baking sheet and a large stack of paper plates. Grumbling, he stacks cookie after cookie on individual plates until he is completely surrounded.

The first cookie meets a little amount of resistance but clears the distance into Lance’s bedroom. Keith takes this as a victory. He smiles to himself and slides about ten more under in rapid succession.

There’s a shuffling sound on the other side of the door, indicating that Lance has finally noticed the army of cookies forming in his room. Keith lines another row of cookie plates and waits a second before sliding them all at once with his forearm. This action is closely followed by a small surprised “eek!” From the other side of the door. Keith hiccups out a dry sob into his fist.

“Stop sliding cookies under my door, Mullet!”

 Before Keith realizes it, there’s large tears rolling down his cheeks. It’s Lance. _Not again._ He promises himself. If he loses Lance again, he would stop being himself. It’s a thought that scares Keith and makes him worry about what would happen to his wonder about what would happen if he were to repeat this event again. The lights, the sirens, they all are stuck on repeat in Keith’s head and leave a constant ringing in his ears. He sniffles and wipes away his pitiful tears.

He slides the last plate under the door.

There’s a loud agitated “argh!” that causes Keith to cackle loudly.

When he runs out of cookies, Keith sits next to the door. He’s still wearing his jacket and scarf that he left the house in, so the fond warmness makes him feel sleepy. His head bobs lightly while he tries to fight off the rush of exhaustion, but the pull is too strong and he quickly succumbs.

When he finally wakes up, almost twenty-four hours have passed. He’s awoken by a wooden door hitting him between the shoulder blades abruptly before stopping. Keith groans and slowly opens his eyes to glare upwards at the culprit.

It’s Lance.

Keith notes this suddenly as he stares up at the lanky boy. There’s a shocked and panicked expression on his face. Keith unfurls himself as quickly as Lance attempts to break his state of confused wonder. When he is fully standing, Lance takes a step back and tries to shut the door once more. Keith’s hand shoots out and grabs the edge of the door quickly despite the creaking in his spine and hips.

Pushing forward, Keith shoves his way into Lance’s room. He slams the door behind himself and holds the taller boy close to himself. Lance is warm, and alive, and really _really_ warm. He sighs and melts into the hold.

The pain in his legs makes him collapse, taking Lance with him. They wind up on the floor, leaning against the footboard of the bed. Keith’s fists are balled up in Lance’s shirt and face is tucked into the crook of Lance’s neck. He can hear his heart beating loudly from the way he has his face pushed against neck. This reminds him that Lance is alive and that this is real.

There’s a minute of silence before Lance lets out a shaky laugh. “Are you drunk?” He jokes, trying desperately not to tense up from how close Keith is to him.

“Shut up.” Keith mumbles, snuggling closer to him. He kicks a cookie plate on accident but pays it no mind. His eyes are starting to feel prickly but he refuses to cry. “Just…Shut up.”

Lance sighs quietly and let’s himself relax slightly. “Okay.” He whispers it out. Lance runs one hand through Keith’s hair while the other rests across his back. He holds Keith in a protective way that makes his heart slow and his breath steady.

Keith still refuses to cry. Lance can feel the way that he is trembling in his arms and chooses to forgive Keith in that moment.

**December 26 th; Sleeping Hours **

Lance gets a shower quickly after. He stinks of beer and even though Keith was insistent that he wasn’t bothered, Lance still felt gross and tired. This is usually a sign to him that it’s a good time for a shower. He lets the warm water run down his body. His head is still a mess.

There was no way that Lance expected Keith to be waiting on the other side of his door. Lance can never hold a grudge for more than a week. Everyone knows that. Yet Keith was still waiting to apologize. He can’t seem to understand why it mattered so much to Keith when it barely even mattered to Lance. He probably wouldn’t have even stayed mad for more than even three days at best.

There’s a loud ringing sound that resonates through the apartment. Lance feels his body tense up suddenly. His heart races with panic and quickly turns off the water. He hops out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist and pokes his head out of the bathroom to spot Keith speaking to someone at the door. Quickly, Lance rushes back into the bathroom and puts on a clean pair of pyjama pants while he waits for the front door to close and all talking stops.

Keith sits on the fold-out couch with his knees pulled to his chest. He has a blanket draped over his shoulders for added coziness. There’s a large pizza box waiting in front of him to be opened. He taps a tune on his leg before deciding to have one slice while he waits for Lance to join him for dinner.

When Lance finally emerges like that of a spooked doe, Keith is already on his second slice. He looks up and his heart skips a beat. Lance’s short hair is still damp even though he’s towel drying it when he meets Keith’s gaze. A bead of water drips down his torso that is noticeably lacking a shirt. Keith swallows a half chewed bite of pizza and drops his slice into the brown cardboard box that he just recently placed across his thighs. He receives a quizzical look. “Pizza?” He asks sheepishly with a slight tremble in his voice.

Lance clears his throat of some of his anxiety to try and manage a meek “Pizza.” In response. He drapes the damp towel over one shoulder and leans against the couch. Reaching forward, he grabs a particularly greasy slice of pizza from the box resting on Keith’s lap.

Upon further inspection, Lance scrunches up his face. “Pineapple?” He questions. This doesn’t stop him from taking rather large bite out of the pizza. “Do you even like pineapple?”

Keith shrugs and picks a few pieces of pineapple off of his own slice. “I don’t.” He adds the chunks to the growing pile with a flick. “You just seemed like the type to like pineapple on pizza.”

It’s incredibly weak reasoning, so Lance can’t help but groan. He flops down onto the couch and tosses the towel at Keith’s head. “I hate two things about this. One; you are correct. And two;” he takes a large chomp out of the pizza. “Even though I’m spiteful, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m going to eat at _least_ half of this pizza.”

Keith chuckles lightly and sprinkles the extra pineapple onto Lance’s designated half of the pizza. The two make a cheers motion with their slices. It’s a peaceful moment that they both definitely needed, albeit for different reasons. It helps nonetheless.

When they finish three quarters of the pizza, they quickly fall into a much needed slumber.

Keith wakes with a start every time Lance moves in his sleep. At around eight in the morning, Lance’s alarm goes off. He reluctantly rolls over and reaches outwards with a groan. His eyes struggle to stay open.

When his mind finally starts to wake up, he realizes that Keith is trying to hold him as tightly as comfortably possible. Lance lightly tries to adjust and remove Keith’s arms from his waist. He turns his body so that his legs dangle over the edge. Keith wakes up at the same time that Lance’s alarm goes off, but he’s feeling far too exhausted to move. Lance stretches his arms upwards and goes to stand after a moment.

Keith takes this opportunity to snake his arms back around Lance’s waist. “Surely you weren’t planning to leave without me?” He mumbles sleepily with his face flush against the small of Lance’s back.

Lance smiles to himself when he hears Keith let out a loud and exhausted sigh. “No,” He admits with a hint of laughter in his voice. “But I _was_ planning on dumping an entire bucket of ice water on your head.” He shrugs. “I thought it would be funny.” Keith lightly bites Lance’s exposed hip, earning him a small moan that Lance is only half aware that he makes. He retaliates by smacking Keith in the face with a decorative Christmas pillow. “It _would’ve_ been funny.” He states with a bashful smile on his lips.

“Hurry up and go get ready already.” He groans and lets Lance leave to get dressed reluctantly. With a heavy stretch, Keith slowly rises to his feet. He fumbles through the freshly folded laundry in search of his work uniform. He pulls the shirt over his head and pizza covered long sleeved shirt. There’s a whiff of the detergent that Lance uses on his laundry that causes Keith to feel oddly melancholic.

Today is his last day living with Lance. He pops his head through the shirt collar and takes a final look around the apartment. When they return after work, it will be to just grab Keith’s personal belongings and say goodbye. The thought makes Keith feel sad and stressed. They still haven’t caught the stalker, but Keith has no way of proving to everyone how he knows that it’s Lance being targeted.

If only Lance wasn’t so scared to talk about everything than this would be simpler.

Sitting on the edge of the sofa-bed, Keith runs his hand along the soft and worn-in blankets where they’d been sleeping prior. He wonders if letting Lance stay alone is the only option he has. “Hey Lance, I’m a time traveller here from the future to save you from dying because of some psycho stalker.” Simple. He laughs at how outlandish and crazy that sounded.

As if it was only that simple.

The apartment is cleaner and cozier than when Keith first arrived. The kitchen is stocked with food other than bare essentials and beer. Lance looks healthier, his skin looks clearer, he’s sleeping better, and his smiles seem more sincere when he looks at Keith. Lance has noticed this too, but he doesn’t seem to fully understand why.

Keith has become such a large part of Lance’s life in such a short period of time. It would leave a Keith-sized hole in Lance’s life if he was gone.

The two have both come to a conclusion and find resolve in their decisions. They both want more time to live together. Spending evenings eating bad take-out foods while watching awful documentaries, or cooking messy foods, or racing to be the first to take a shower, or being able to kiss without needing to be drunk but rather because it just feels _right_. These mundane actions are important to the both of them. They want more time.

Most importantly, Keith wants to make Lance smile more. He loves the way that Lance smiles. Keith decides to ask Lance about staying together at the end of their shift.

Lance enters the living room to find Keith sighing rather often. He steals glances at Keith as he fills up his water bottle at the sink. Keith lazily ties his hair back with an elastic that he had around his wrist and sighs once more. Lance screws the tip of the bottle on and grabs his jacket. “I’m not going to even ask what’s up with all the melodrama.”

Keith sighs again in reply.

 

Nothing really happens on the way to work and nothing really happens _at_ work either. There’s nothing different from their usual banter. At one point, Keith spies Lance flirting with a young woman for tips, so Keith loudly calls him a hoe. Lance then retaliates by yanking on his ponytail and ‘spilling’ some coffee on his sleeve. It earns them a dollar tip.

It’s so normal that it’s nerve-wracking.

Their shift comes to a close when a few of the other part timers show up. It’s around 3pm when they’ve finally clocked out and left through the back entrance. Although a short shift, the two day break from work somehow made such a short workday feel like an eternity.

There’s a dull chill to the air that causes Keith to shiver and yawn. He stretches his arms upwards and soaks up the cold winter sun for a moment before wrapping his scarf tighter around himself. All in all, it’s a nice day outside. A little cold, but manageable.

Lance opens the dumpster while Keith reaches back inside of the café for the garbage that they were asked to bring outside and dispose of. Keith wants to kick Lance for being just tall enough to reach the top of the dumpster. He’s only slightly taller than Keith, which is _infuriating_ because he can never quite get the dumpster open all the way without some form of assistance. The only time he’d managed it without an aid, he’d had to jump multiple times and sometimes the momentum would swing the flap back shut and forcing him to start over. When he came back inside, he was red in the face and out of breath. Lance had laughed at him.

Admitting defeat is embarrassing, but being laughed at is somehow worse. “Don’t worry, mullet,” Lance smirks and slams the lid shut. “Someday you’ll be able to reach the top shelf and close this dumpster all by yourself!”

It’s a petty taunt, but it riles Keith up anyway. “Fuck you, Lance. I’m barely twenty. There’s still time for me to grow taller!” He clenches his fists and tries to size Lance up. “And when I do,” He doesn’t know where he going with this. There’s two options; jumping up to head-butt Lance in the jaw or…

Launching himself onto his toes, Keith grabs the back of Lance’s neck lightly and pulls him down slightly. He brushes their lips together gently for just a moment before slowly lowering himself back to the ground. “I’m going to make you eat those words, McClain.”

Lance stutters and turns a rather flattering shade of crimson. Keith grins in a toothy way that makes Lance’s heart flutter in his chest. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see.” He taunts with a trembling voice. Keith takes this as a victory.

Keith smiles softly while looking at the ground. “We can do that whole ‘pencil marks on a door frame’ thing,” Lance continues, leaning his head onto the dumpster, snow falling onto his shoulders delicately. “That’s a fool proof way to find out if you’re still short by the time you’re twenty-one.”

“Like they do for toddlers?” Keith asks with a soft chuckle.

Lance leans his head fully backwards onto the snow covered dumpster. He gazes up at the marble sky with a smile. “Well, you’ve got the height of one.” He snorts and Keith lightly punches his exposed stomach.

“Fuck you,” Keith playfully shoves Lance’s shoulder against the metal. “I’m only a few inches shorter than you!” He’s effortlessly closed the distance between them in a quick second. Lance is looking at him with mischievous twinkling eyes. Keith swallows hard and looks away. “Besides, I’m pretty sure Allura won’t take too kindly to you writing on the walls.” He trails off.

Cocking an eyebrow, Lance tilts his head to the side. “Why would we carry the bet out at the café instead of at my place?” He asks with genuine confusion.

“Lance, does that mean…?” Keith feels his heart skip a beat. He’s hopeful. All at once, Lance has captivated more of Keith’s world than should’ve been possible. He feels greedy and wants to make Lance feel the same way about him. “Lance, I want to be with—“

Movement on the other end of the alley breaks Keith’s focus. A lanky boy in a dark hoodie is charging at Lance. “Die!” He bellows with a cracking voice.

The first thing Keith sees is the blade in his hands. It’s a kitchen knife. Nothing really special about it, but it’s dangerous when used with deadly intentions. Keith’s feet move quickly, not knowing how these events are _supposed_ to play out. He grabs Lance’s arm and spins him towards his chest. Keith sees the surprised look on Lance’s face—the way his eyes are wide and wild.

There’s a sudden impact against his back that he barely feels due to the adrenaline. He winces at the sharp and sliding sensation that sears through his muscle like lava. A groan escapes from his lips but he continues to hold Lance safely away. He can hear muted screaming somewhere that feels very far away suddenly. His knees give out, but Lance manages to support both of their weight.

Keith catches a glimpse of Lance’s face. His features are pale and panicked. Keith doesn’t like it when he looks so scared, but he feels too tired to do anything about it. Lance is screaming something that Keith can’t quite understand. There’s tears in Lance’s eyes. _Sorry for making you cry._ He wants to watch Lance more but his eyes are just too heavy. Lance begs for him to keep his eyes open.

Keith closes his eyes and sees a plain of infinite dreamlike blackness.

He realizes with a pang of regret that he never told Lance that he loved him or that he wanted to stay with him in that apartment—on that fold out couch where they would watch conspiracy theories together. If he could move his legs, he’d kick himself.

 

A light but insistent beeping to his right is the first thing that Keith hears when he wakes up. His throat feels parched and his lips are chapped. He tries to move but frankly, he feels like he’s been hit by a bus. He can tell by the stiff bed and the tacky baby blue walls that he is in a hospital room. The IV drip in his arm is a good sign too.

A fluffy ball of brown hair is resting on his left leg. It moves due to the sudden disturbance and eventually rises to meet Keith’s exhausted and confused face. “Keith?” Lance asks, blinking with puffy eyes. His voice is broken and quiet. He asks in a way that shows that he isn’t sure if this is real or not.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” His throat is scratchy and he pauses. “Am I…in a hospital?” He struggles to get out.

With a quivering lip, tears begin welling up in Lance’s eyes. “You almost died!” He’s hysterical and shaking. He slams his head back down again.

Keith smiles sweetly and weakly pats Lance’s head. “Are you hurt anywhere?” Lance shakes his head, rubbing further into Keith’s blankets. “What exactly happened?”

 Sniffling, Lance looks up at Keith. His nose is running and his tears are flowing over. “You protected me in the alley. An ex from high school who’d been following me for a while suddenly got violent and charged at us.” Keith nods, brushing Lance’s hair out of his eyes. He’s watching and listening closely. “He missed anything vital, the knife was twisted in though. He wanted to kill someone. It didn’t matter who. The doctor said it’s nothing life threatening but,” He looks at Keith patiently before reaching for the hem of the hospital administered shirt, searching for any response. Keith watches with soft eyes as Lance lifts the shirt gently.

A large and jarring scar is formed along his hip area. It’s deep and rather dark in colour. “I’m so sorry.” Lance chokes out, emotion getting the better of him. “It’s all my fault.” He drops the hem and places his hand by Keith’s side.

Keith delicately grabs Lance’s face. He gazes at his puffy features while rubbing his thumb along his jawline. “Please don’t apologize.”

“You got _stabbed_ because of me!”

Keith pulls Lance forward with what force he can manage. Lance steadies himself from falling onto the bed by placing one leg on the mattress. This doesn’t stop Lance’s face from colliding with Keith’s in a way that allows their lips to meet in much softer way than Keith had anticipated and braced for. Moving together in a cautious yet heated way, Lance puts a little more weight onto the bed but maintains a safe distance.

Lance pulls back, inches away from Keith. He sighs, hand by Keith’s hip and the scar that follows the skin close by. He rests his head in the crook of Keith’s neck. “You saved me.” He whispers with a low and breaking voice.

“I love you, Lance.” Keith admits before he can stop himself. He feels Lance tense against his body, but he can’t seem to stop the words from coming. “Any future without you living and happy is a future that I want nothing to do with.”

There’s a second where Lance stays tense and holds his breath. Keith fears for the worst but then Lance leans further into him, trembling from his uncontrollable sobs. “I thought you were going to die!” He cries and lets his tears fall onto Keith’s hospital gown. “I have _never_ been so scared, Keith!” He lightly collides his fist against Keith’s chest.

Keith’s mind races a mile a minute. Does he apologize for getting stabbed? Is that the correct course of action??? “I-I’m sorry?”

“—I love you too.” He says it meekly. He punches Keith’s shoulder a few more times before he pulls back with tears streaming down his face and a running nose. “I love you too!” He sniffles.

The glow of the ceiling light makes the blush on Lance’s cheeks look all the more charming. Surely the way that his heart is racing cannot be good for his recovery. The beeping on the monitor speeds up slightly and Lance’s blush deepens slightly. “I’ll go call the others,” He stands and fidgets around. “Everyone was worried about you.”

Keith nods and watches Lance pause awkwardly while trying to remember how a door works. “Okay. I’ll see you soon.” He promises when Lance finally manages to realize it’s a pull door not push. Lance nods and leaves the room for a moment.

The monitor has slowed it’s beeping by the time Lance finally returns. He tells Keith that everyone is on their way to the hospital. Apparently being unconscious for a few days is a big deal among friends. Lance sits on the bed with Keith while he waits for the others to arrive. He rests his head on Keith’s shoulder. “So what do we do now?” He frowns. “Not _now_ now, but the now after right now.” He rubs his temples. “That sounds dumb. I mean, where do we go from here?”

Keith smiles and rests his head on top of Lance’s. “I wish I knew. Anything could happen.” He laughs lightly, trying not to hurt himself. “To be quite honest, I didn’t think I’d ever get this far. I’m just happy that I did.” He yawns and hugs Lance tighter to his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this fic. To be quite honest, I didn't really know how to end this one. It felt weird to put everything into a perfect ending where everything was set up and the future was clear, but at the same time I feel like these bois would probably take weeks to fully adjust to becoming lovers so it just felt right to end things where I ended them. Maybe I'll write some cute one-shots in this universe, but I honestly don't know. 
> 
> Thank you all once again for supporting me this far, and if you would like to support me further, consider checking out my garbage bin of a tumblr for more spicy fanfic updates and some top tier shitposts:  
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/placefantasy   
> I love you guys, keep an eye out for any other works of mine or a sequel to this one, which has significantly less klangst and more fluff. Is there a klance fluff thing?? ? Kluff?? I have so many questions. Kluff entertains me as a word though so I'm keeping my ramblings there.

**Author's Note:**

> I love the headcanon that Lance and Keith have very similar senses of music though neither will ever admit it because they’re both too proud to let the other one know. 
> 
> This fic is an absolute dumpster fire, but I hope you all enjoyed Keith’s pining and Lance’s awkward tendencies. 
> 
> I'm probably going to write the next chapter fluffier, I mean, why should Keith spend his ten days with Lance suffering?


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